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THE 

FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 


THE 

FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 


BY 

FLORA    ANNIE    STEEL 


VOL.  I 


iLont(on 

MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND  NEW  YORK 
1894 

All  rights  reserved 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  Clakk,  Edinbtcrgh. 


Y. 


CONTENTS 


N 

V> 

i 

PAGE 

^  The  Flower  of  Forgiveness  . 
^r  Harvest  .         ... 

1 

34 

For  the  Faith 

62 

^      The  Bhut-Baby 

.      115 

Ramchunderji 

.      152 

Heera  Xund   . 

.      178 

.;       Feroza    ..... 

199 

i 


THE   ELOWEE   OF   FOEGIVENESS 

'  Surely  this  is  very  rare  ? '  I  remarked,  as  look- 
ing through  a  herbarium  of  Himalayan  plants 
belonging  to  a  friend  of  mine,  I  came  upon  a  small 
anemone  which,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  that 
most  delicate  of  flowers,  had  preserved  its  colour 
in  all  its  first  freshness.  Indeed,  the  scarlet  petals, 
each  bearing  a  distinct  heart-shaped  blotch  of 
white  in  the  centre,  could  scarcely  have  glowed 
more  brilliantly  in  life  than  they  did  in 
death. 

'  Very  rare,'  returned  the  owner  after  a  pause ; 
'  I  have  reason  to  beheve  it  unique — so  far  as  col- 
lections go  at  any  rate.' 

'  I  see  you  have  called  it  Bemissionensis.  AVhat. 
induced  you  to  give  it  such  an  odd  name  ? ' 

VOL.  I  B 


2  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

He  smiled.  'Dog  Latin,  I  acknowledge.  As 
for  the  reason — can  you  not  guess  ? ' 

'Well,'  I  replied,  looking  closer  at  the  white 
and  red  flowers,  '  I  have  not  your  vivid  imagma- 
tion,  but  I  presume  it  was  in  allusion  to  sins  as 
scarlet,  and  hearts  white  as  wool.  Ah !  it  was 
found,  I  see,  near  the  Cave  of  Amar-nath;  that 
accounts  for  the  connection  of  ideas.' 

'  No  doubt,'  he  said,  quietly,  '  that  accounts  for 
the  connection  in  a  measure ;  not  entirely.  The 
fact  is,  a  very  odd  story — the  oddest  story  I  ever 
came  into  personally — is  connected  with  that 
flower.  You  remember  Taylor,  surgeon  of  the  101st, 
who  died  of  pyaemia  contracted  in  some  of  his 
cholera  experiments  ?  AVell,  just  after  I  joined 
we  chummed  together  in  Cashmere,  where  he  was 
making  the  herbarium  at  which  you  have  been 
looking.  He  was  a  most  charming  companion  for 
a  youngster  eager  to  understand  something  of  a 
new  life,  for,  without  exception,  he  knew  more  of 
native  thought  and  feeling  than  any  other  man  I 
ever  met.     He  had  a  sort  of  intuition  about  it ; 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  3 

yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  curiously  unsym- 
pathetic, and  seemed  to  look  upon  it  merely  as  a 
field  for  research,  and  nothing  more.  He  used  to 
talk  to  every  man  he  met  on  the  road,  and  in  this 
way  managed  to  acquire  an  extraordinary  amount 
of  information  utterly  undreamed  of  by  most 
Englishmen.  For  instance,  his  first  acquaintance 
with  the  existence  of  this  anemone  grew  out  of  a 
chance  conversation  with  an  old  rufiian  besmeared 
with  filth  from  head  to  foot,  and  it  was  his  con- 
sequent desire  to  add  the  rarity  to  his  collection, 
joined  to  my  fancy  for  seeing  a  real  pilgrimage, 
which  brought  us  to  Islamabad  about  the  end  of. 
July,  about  the  time,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  annual 
festival. 

'The  sacred  spring  where  the  pilgrimage  is 
inaugurated  by  a  solemn  feeding  of  the  holy  fish 
is  some  way  from  the  town,  so  we  pitched  our 
tents  under  a  plane-tree  close  to  the  temples,  in 
order  to  see  the  whole  show.  And  a  queer  show 
it  was.  Brummagem  umbrellas  stuck  like  mush- 
rooms over  green  stretches  of  grass,  and  giving 


4  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

shelter  to  a  motley  crew;  jogis,  or  wandering 
mendicants,  meditating  on  the  mystic  word  Om, 
and  thereafter  lighting  sacred  fires  with  Swedish 
tdndstickors ;  Government  clerks,  bereft  of  rai- 
ment, forgetting  reports  and  averages  in  a  return 
to  primitive  humanity.  Taylor  never  tired  of 
pointing  out  these  strange  contrasts,  and  over  his 
evening  pipe  read  me  many  a  long  lecture  on  the 
putting  of  new  wine  into  old  bottles.  For  myself, 
it  interested  me  immensely.  I  liked  to  think  of 
the  young  men  and  maidens,  the  weary  workers, 
and  the  hoary  old  sinners,  all  journeying  in  faith, 
hope,  and  charity  (or  the  want  of  it)  to  the  Cave 
of  Amar-nath  in  order  to  get  the  Great  Ledger  of 
Life  settled  up  to  date,  and  so  to  return  scot-free 
to  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  in  order  to 
begin  the  old  round  all  over  again.  I  liked  to 
think  that  crime  sufficient  to  drag  half  Hindostan 
to  the  nethermost  pit  had  been  made  over  to  those 
white  gypsum  cliffs,  and  that  still,  summer  after 
summer,  the  wind  flowers  sprang  from  the  cran- 
nies, and  the  forget-me-nots  with  their  message  of 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  5 

warning  came  to  carpet  the  way  for  those  eager 
feet  seeking  the  impossible.  I  liked  to  see  all  the 
strange  perversities  and  pieties  displayed  by  the 
jogis  and  gosains.  It  was  from  one  of  the  latter, 
a  horrid  old  ruffian  (so  ridiculously  like  II  Re 
Galant  \imiio,  that  we  nicknamed  him  Victor 
Emanuel  on  the  spot),  that  Taylor  had  first  heard 
of  the  Flower  of  Forgiveness  as  the  man  styled  it. 
He  and  the  doctor  grew  quite  hot  over  the  possible 
remission  of  sins ;  but  the  subsequent  gift  of  one 
rupee  sterKng  sent  him  away  asseverating  that 
none  could  filch  from  him  the  first-fruits  of  pil- 
grimage— namely,  the  opportunity  of  meeting  a 
Protector  of  the  Poor  so  virtuous,  so  generous,  so 
full  of  the  hoarded  wisdom  of  ages.  I  recognised 
the  old  humbug  in  the  crowd  as  we  made  our 
way  to  a  sort  of  latticed  gallery  belonging  to  the 
Maharajah's  guest-house,  which  gave  on  the  tank 
where  the  fish  are  fed.  He  salaamed  profoundly, 
and,  with  a  grin,  expressed  his  delight  that,  after 
all,  the  great  doctor  saliih  should  be  seeking  for- 
giveness. 


6  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

' "  I  seek  the  flower  only,  Pious  One,"  replied 
Taylor  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

' "  Perhaps  'tis  the  same  thing,"  replied  Victor 
Emanuel  with  another  salaam. 

'The  square  tank  was  edged  by  humanity  in 
the  white  and  saffron  robes  of  pilgrimage.  Brim- 
ming up  to  the  stone  step,  worn  smooth  by  genera- 
tions of  sinners,  the  waters  of  the  spring  lapped 
lazily,  stirred  by  the  myriads  of  small  fish  which 
in  their  eagerness  for  the  coming  feast  flashed 
hither  and  thither  like  meteors,  to  gather  in  radiat- 
ing stars  round  the  least  speck  on  the  surface ; 
sometimes  in  their  haste  rising  in  scaly  mounds 
above  the  water.  The  blare  of  a  conch  and  a 
clanging  of  discordant  bells  made  all  eyes  turn  to 
the  platform  in  front  of  the  temple,  where  the 
attendant  Brahmans  stood  with  high -heaped 
baskets  of  grain  awaiting  the  sacrificial  words  about 
to  be  spoken  by  an  old  man,  who,  with  one  foot  on 
the  bank,  spread  his  arms  skywards, — an  old  man 
of  insignificant  height,  but  with  an  indescribable 
dignity,  on  which  I  remarked  to  my  companion. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  7 

' "  It  is  indescribable,"  he  assented,  "  because  it 
is  compounded  of  factors  not  only  wide  as  the 
poles  asunder  from  you  and  me,  but  also  from  each 
other.  Pride  of  twice-born  trebly-distilled  ances- 
try bringing  a  conviction  of  inherited  worthiness ; 
pride  in  hardly-acquired  devotion  giving  birth  to 
a  sense  of  personal  frailty.  That  is  the  Brahman 
whom  we  lump  into  a  third-class  railway  carriage 
with  the  ruck  of  humanity,  and  then  wonder — 
hush  !  he  is  going  to  begin." 

'  "  Thou  art  Light !  Thou  art  Immortal  Life  !  " 
The  voice,  with  a  tremor  of  emotion  in  it,  pierced 
the  stillness  for  a  second  before  it  was  shattered 
by  a  hoarse  strident  cry — "  Silence  !  " 

'Taylor  leaned  forward,  suddenly  interested. 
"  You're  in  luck,"  he  whispered, "  I  believe  there  is 
going  to  be  a  row  of  some  sort.' 

'  Once  more  the  cry  rose  harsher  than  before : 
"  Silence,  Sukya  I     Thou  art  impure." 

'  A  stir  in  the  crowd,  and  a  visible  straighten- 
ing of  the  old  man's  back  were  the  only 
results. 


8  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

'''Thou  art  the  Holiest  Sacrifice!     We  adore 
Thee,  adorable  Siin  ! " 

' "  Silence  ! " 

'This  time  the  interruption  took  shape  in  a 
jogi,  who,  forcing  his  way  through  the  dense  ranks, 
emerged  on  the  platform  to  stand  pointing  with 
denunciatory  finger  at  the  old  Brahman.  Naked, 
save  for  the  cable  of  grass  round  his  loins  and  the 
smearing  of  white  ashes,  with  hair  lime-bleached 
and  plaited  with  hemp  into  a  sort  of  chignon,  no 
more  ghastly  figure  could  be  conceived.  The 
crowd,  however,  hailed  him  with  evident  respect, 
while  a  murmur  of  "  Gopi !  'tis  Gopi  the  hiksJm 
(religious  beggar)  "  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
This  reception  seemed  to  rouse  the  old  man's 
wrath,  for  after  one  scornful  glance  at  the  new- 
comer he  was  about  to  continue  his  invocation  to 
the  sun,  when  the  jogi,  striding  forward,  flourished 
his  mendicant's  staff  so  close  to  the  other's  face 
that  he  perforce  fell  back. 

'Before   the   crowd   had   grasped    the   deadly 
earnest  of  the  scene,  a  lad  of  about  sixteen,  clad 


THE  FLOWEE  OF  FORGIVENESS  9 

in  the  black  antelope  skin  which  marks  a  religious 
disciple,  had  leaped  quivering  with  rage  between 
the  old  man  and  his  assailant. 

'"By  George,"  muttered  Taylor,  "what  a 
splendid  young  fellow  ! " 

'He  was  indeed.  Extraordinarily  fair,  even 
for  the  fairest  race  in  India,  he  might  have  served 
as  model  for  a  young  Perseus  as  he  stood 
there,  the  antelope  skin  falling  from  his  right 
shoulder  lea\T.ng  the  sacred  cord  of  the  Brahman 
visible  on  his  left,  while  his  smooth  round  limbs 
showed  in  all  theii'  naked,  ^^gorous  young 
beauty. 

' "  Stand  off,  Amra  !  who  bade  thee  interfere  ? " 
cried  the  old  man  sternly.  The  bond  between 
them  was  manifest  by  the  alacrity  with  which  the 
boy  obeyed  the  command:  for  to  the  spiritual 
master  implicit  obedience  is  due.  At  the  same 
moment  the  chief  priest  of  the  shrine,  alarmed  at 
an  incident  which  might  interfere  with  the 
expected  almsgiving,  hurried  forward.  Luckily 
the  crowd  kept  the  silence  which  characterises 


10  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

gregarious  humanity  in  the  East,  so  we  could 
follow  what  was  said. 

'  "  Wilt  remove  yonder  drunken  fanatic,  or  shall 
the  worship  of  the  Shining  Ones  be  profaned  ? " 
asked  the  old  Brahman  savagely;  and  at  a  sign 
from  their  chief  the  attendants  stepped  forward. 

'  But  the  jogi  facing  the  crowd,  appealed  direct 
to  that  fear  of  defilement  which  haunts  the 
Hindu's  heart.  "  Impure  !  Impure  !  Touch  him 
not !  Hear  him  not !  Look  not  on  him  ! "  The 
vast  concourse  swayed  and  stirred,  as  with  a  con- 
fident air  the  jogi  turned  to  the  chief  priest. 
"These  twelve  years  agone,  O  mohunt-ji'^  thou 
knowest  Gopi — Gopi  the  hiJcshii  /  since  for  twelve 
years  I  have  been  led  hither  by  the  Spirit,  seeking 
speech,  and  finding  silence  1  But  now  speech  is 
given  by  the  same  Spirit.  That  man,  Sukya, 
anchorite  of  Setanagar,  is  unclean,  false  to  his 
race,  to  his  vows,  to  the  Shining  Ones !  I,  Gopi 
the  bikshu,  will  prove  it." 

'  Once  again  a  murmur  rose  like  the  wind  pre- 

^  Head  of  a  religious  community. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  11 

saging  a  storm,  and  as  the  crowd  surged  closer  to 
the  temple  a  young  girl  in  the  saffron  drapery  of 
a  pilgrim,  took  advantage  of  the  movement  to 
make  her  way  to  the  platform  with  the  evident 
intention  of  pressing  to  the  old  man's  side ;  but 
she  was  arrested  by  the  young  Perseus,  who  with 
firm  hands  clasping  hers,  whispered  something  in 
her  ear.  She  smiled  up  at  him,  and  so  they  stood 
hand  in  hand,  eager  but  confident,  as  the  Brahman's 
voice,  clear  with  certainty,  dominated  the  confusion. 

' "  Ay  1  Prove  it !  Prove  that  I,  Sukya,  taught 
of  the  great  Swami,  twice-born  Brahman,  faithful 
disciple,  blameless  householder,  and  pious  anchorite 
in  due  turn  as  the  faith  demands,  have  failed  once 
in  the  law  without  repentance  and  atonement ! 
Lo !  I  swear  by  the  Shining  Ones  that  I  stand 
before  ye  to-day  body  and  soul  holy  to  the  utter- 
most." 

•  "  God  gie  us  a  gude  conceit  o'  oursels,"  muttered 
Taylor. 

'  The  remark  jarred  on  me  painfully,  for  the 
spiritual   exaltation  in  the  man's  face   had   no- 


12  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

thing  personal  in  it,  nothing  more  selhsh  than  the 
rapt  confidence  which  glorified  the  young  disciple's 
whole  bearing  as  he  gazed  on  his  master  with  the 
sort  of  blind  adoration  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  a  dog. 

'"Think!  I  am  Sukya!"  went  on  the  high- 
pitched  voice.  "  Would  Sukya  come  between  his 
brethren  and  the  Shining  Ones  ?  I,  chosen  for 
the  oblation  by  reason  of  virtue  and  learning ;  I, 
Sukya,  journeying  to  holy  Amar-nath  not  for  my 
own  sake — for  I  fear  no  judgment — but  for  the 
sake  of  the  disciple,  yonder  boy  Amra,  betrothed 
to  the  daughter  of  my  daughter,  and  vowed  to  the 
pilgrimage  from  birth." 

'A  yell  of  crackling  laughter  came  from  the 
jogi  as  he  leapt  to  the  bastion  of  the  bathing-place, 
and  so,  raised  within  sight  of  all,  struck  an  attitude 
of  indignant  appeal.  "When  was  an  outcast 
vowed  to  pilgrimage  ?  And  by  my  jogi's  vow  I 
swear  the  boy  Amra,  disciple  of  Sukya,  to  be  an 
outcast.  A  Sudra  of  Sudras !  seeing  that  his 
mother,  being  twice-born,  defiled  her  race  with 
scum  from  beyond  the  seas." 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FOKGIVEXESS  13 

'  "  By  George  ! "  muttered  Taylor  again,  "  this 
is  getting  lively — for  the  sciun." 

'"Perhaps  the  Presence  is  becoming  tired  of 
this  vulgar  scene,"  suggested  an  obsequious  chup- 
rassi,  who  had  been  devoted  to  our  service  by 
order  of  the  Cashmere  officials  ;  but  the  Presences 
were  deeply  interested.  For  all  that  I  should  not 
care  to  witness  such  a  sight  again.  The  attention 
of  the  crowd,  centred  a  moment  before  on  the  jogi, 
was  turned  now  on  the  boy,  who  stood  absolutely 
alone ;  the  girl,  moved  by  the  unreasoning  habit 
of  race,  having  dropped  his  hand  at  the  first 
word  and  crept  to  her  grandfather's  side.  I  can 
see  that  young  face  still,  awful  in  its  terror,  piteous 
in  its  entreaty. 

' "  Thou  liest,  Gopi ! "  cried  the  Brahman  gasp- 
ing with  passion ;  and  at  the  words  a  gleam  of 
hope  crept  to  those  hunted  eyes.  "  Prove  it,  I 
say;  for  I  appeal  to  the  Shining  Ones  whom  I 
have  served." 

'  "  I  accept  the  challenge,"  yelled  the  jogi  with 
frantic  gestures,  while  a  perfect  roar  of  assent, 


14  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

cries  of  devotion,  and  prayers  for  guidance,  rose 
from  the  crowd. 

'Taylor  looked  round  at  me  quickly.  "You 
are  in  luck.  There  is  going  to  be  a  miracle.  I 
saw  that  Gopi  at  Hurdwar  once ;  he  is  a  rare  hand 
at  them."  He  must  have  understood  my  resent- 
ment at  being  thus  recalled  to  the  nineteenth 
century,  for  he  added  half  to  himself,  "  'Tis  tragedy 
for  all  that, — to  the  boy." 

'  An  appeal  for  silence  enabled  us  to  hear  that 
both  parties  had  agreed  to  refer  the  question  of 
birth  to  the  sacred  cord,  with  which  every  male 
of  the  three  twice-born  castes  is  invested.  If  the 
strands  were  of  the  pure  cotton  ordained  by  ritual 
to  the  Brahman,  the  boy  should  be  held  of  pure 
blood ;  but  the  admixture  of  anything  pointing  to 
the  despised  Sudra  would  make  him  anathema 
maranatha,  and  render  his  master  impure,  and 
therefore  unfit  to  lead  the  devotions  of  others. 

'  I  cannot  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  which 
followed  ;  for  even  now,  the  confusion  inseparable 
from  finding  yourself  in  surroundings  which  requii'e 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  15 

explanation  before  they  can  fall  into  their  appointed 
place  in  the  picture,  prevents  me  from  remember- 
ing anything  in  detail, — anything  but  a  surging 
sea  of  saffron  and  white,  a  babel  of  wild  cries, 
"  Hum  !  Gunga-ji !  Dlmrm  !  Dliurm  !  "  (Hurri !  ^ 
Ganges!  the  Faith!  the  Faith!)  Then  suddenly 
a  roar, — "  Gopi !  a  miracle  !  a  miracle  '  Praise  be 
to  the  Shining  Ones  \  " 

'  It  seemed  but  a  moment  ere  the  enthusiastic 
crowd  had  swept  the  jogi  from  his  pedestal,  and, 
crowned  with  jasmin  chaplets,  he  was  being  borne 
high  on  men's  shoulders  to  make  a  round  of  the 
various  temples ;  while  the  keepers  of  the  shrine 
swelledthetumultjudiciously  by  criesof  "  Oblations ! 
offerings  !    The  Shining  Ones  are  present  to-day  ! " 

'  In  my  excitement  at  the  scene  itself  I  had  for- 
gotten its  cause,  and  was  regretting  the  all  too 
sudden  ending  of  the  spectacle,  when  Taylor 
touched  me  on  the  arm.  "The  tragedy  is  about 
to  begin  !     Look  ! " 

'  Following   his   eyes   I   saw,   indeed,  tragedy 

^  Name  of  Visliim. 


16  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

enough  to  make  me  forget  what  had  gone  before ; 
yet  I  knew  well  that  I  did  not,  could  not,  fathom 
its  depth  or  measure  its  breadth.  Still,  in  a  dim 
way  I  realised  that  the  boy,  standing  as  if  turned 
to  stone,  had  passed  in  those  few  moments  from 
life  as  surely  as  if  a  physical  death  had  struck 
him  down ;  that  he  might  indeed  have  been  less 
forlorn  had  such  been  the  case,  since  some  one  for 
their  own  sakes  might  then  have  given  him  six 
feet  of  earth.  And  now,  even  a  cup  of  water, 
that  last  refuge  of  cold  charity,  was  denied  to  him 
for  ever,  save  from  hands  whose  touch  was  to  his 
Brahmanised  soul  worse  than  death.  For  him 
there  was  no  future.  For  the  old  man  who, 
burdened  by  the  weeping  girl,  stood  opposite  him, 
there  was  no  past.  Nothing  but  a  hell  of  defile- 
ment ;  of  daily,  hourly  impurity  for  twelve  long 
years.     The  thought  was  damnation. 

'  "  Come,  Premi !  come  !  "  he  muttered,  turning 
suddenly  to  leave  the  platform.  "  This  is  no  place 
for  us  now.  Quick !  we  must  cleanse  ourselves 
from  deadly  sin, — from  deadly,  deadly  sin." 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  17 

'  They  had  reached  the  steps  leading  down  to 
the  tank  when  the  boy,  with  a  sob  like  that  of  a 
wounded  animal,  flung  himself  in  agonized  entreaty 
at  his  master's  feet.  "  Oh,  cleanse  me,  even  me 
also,  0  my  father  1 " 

'  The  old  man  shrank  back  instinctively :  yet 
there  was  no  anger,  only  a  merciless  decision  in 
his  face.  "  Ask  not  the  impossible !  Thou  art 
not  alone  impure :  thou  art  uncleansable  from 
birth, — yea!  for  ever  and  ever.  Come,  Premi, 
come,  my  child." 

'  I  shall  never  forget  the  cry  which  echoed  over 
the  water,  startling  the  pigeons  from  their  evening 
rest  amid  the  encircHng  trees.  "  Uncleansable  for 
ever  and  ever !  "  Then  in  wild  appeal  from  earth 
to  heaven  he  threw  his  arms  skyward.  "  Oh, 
Shining  Ones !  say  I  am  the  same  Amra,  the 
twice-born  Amra,  thy  servant !  " 

' "  Peace  !  blasphemer ! "  interrupted  the  Brah- 
man sternly.  "There  are  no  Shining  Ones  for 
such  as  thou.     Go !  lest  they  strike  thee  dead  in 

wrath." 

VOL.  I  c 


18  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

'  A  momentary  glimpse  of  a  young  face  dis- 
traught by  despair,  of  an  old  one  firm  in  repudia- 
tion, and  the  platform  lay  empty  of  the  passions 
which  had  played  their  parts  on  it  as  on  a  stage. 
Only  from  the  distance  came  the  discordant 
triumph  of  the  jogis  procession. 

'  I  besieged  Taylor's  superior  knowledge  by 
vain  questions,  to  most  of  which  he  shook  his 
head.  "  How  can  I  tell  ? "  he  said  somewhat 
fretfully.  "  The  cord  was  manipulated  in  some 
way,  of  course.  For  all  that,  there  may  be  truth 
in  Gopi's  story.  There  is  generally  the  devil  to 
pay  if  a  Brahmani  goes  wrong,  and  she  may  have 
tried  to  save  the  boy's  life  by  getting  rid  of  him. 
If  you  want  to  know  more,  I'll  send  for  Victor 
Emanuel.  Five  rupees  will  fetch  some  slight 
fraction  of  truth  from  the  bottom  of  his  well,  and 
that,  as  a  rule,  is  all  we  aliens  can  expect  in  these 
incidents." 

'  So  the  old  ruffian  came  and  sat  ostentatiously 
far  from  our  contaminating  influences  in  the 
attitude   of   a   bronze   Buddha,   his    moustaches 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  19 

curled  to  his  eyebrows,  his  large  lips  wreathed  in 
solemn  smiles.  "  It  was  a  truly  divine  miracle," 
he  said,  blandly.  "  Gopi,  the  hikshu,  never  makes 
mistakes,  and  performs  neatly.  Did  the  Presence 
observe  how  neatly  ?  Within  the  cotton  marking 
the  Brahman  came  the  hempen  thread  of  the 
Kshatriya,  inside  again  the  woollen  strand  of  the 
Vaisya;  all  three  twice-born.  But  last  of  all, 
a  strip  of  cow-skin  defiling  the  whole." 

' "  ^^Tiy  cow-skin  ? "  I  asked  in  my  ignorance. 
''  I  always  thought  you  held  a  cow  sacred." 

*  Victor  Emanuel  beamed  approval.  "  The  little 
Presence  is  young,  but  intelligent.  He  will  doubt- 
less learn  much  if  he  questions  the  right  people 
judiciously.  He  will  grow  wise  like  the  big 
Presence,  who  knows  nearly  as  much  as  we  know 
about  some  things, — hut  not  all!  The  cow  is 
sacred,  so  the  skin  telling  of  the  misfortune  of  the 
cow  is  anathema.  Yea,  'twas  a  divine  miracle. 
The  money  of  the  pious  will  flow  to  make  the 
holy  fat ;  at  least  that  is  what  the  doctor  saliih  is 
thinking." 


20  THE  FLOWEE  OF  FORGIVENESS 

' "  Don't  set  up  for  occult  power  on  the  strength 
of  guessing  palpable  truths/'  replied  Taylor ;  "  that 
sort  of  thing  does  not  amuse  me ;  but  the  little 
saJiih  wants  to  know  how  much  truth  there  was 
in  Gopi's  story." 

' "  Gopi  knows,"  retorted  our  friend  with  a  grin. 
"  The  Brahman  saith  the  boy  was  gifted  to  him  by 
a  pious  woman  after  the  custom  of  thanksgiving. 
Gone  five  years  old,  wearing  the  sacred  thread, 
versed  in  simple  lore,  intelligent,  well -formed,  as 
the  ritual  demands.  Gopi  saith  the  mother,  his 
wife,  was  a  bad  walker  even  to  the  length  of  public 
bazaars.  Her  people  sought  her  for  years,  but  she 
escaped  them  in  big  towns,  and  ere  they  found 
her  she  had  gained  safety  for  this  boy  by  palming 
him  off'  on  Sukya.  'Twas  easy  for  her,  being  a 
Brahmani.  Of  course  they  made  her  speak  some- 
what ere  she  fulfilled  her  life,  but  not  the  name  of 
the  anchorite  she  deceived.  So  Gopi,  knowing 
from  the  mother's  babbling  of  this  mongrel's 
blasphemous  name,  and  the  vow  of  pilgrimage  for 
the  expiation  of  sins,  hath  come  hither,  led  by  the 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  21 

Spirit,  every  year.  It  is  a  tale  of  great  virtue  and 
edification." 

' "  But  the  boy  !  the  wretched  boy  ?  "  I  asked 
eagerly.  Taylor  raised  his  eyebrows  and  watched 
my  reception  of  thejogi's  answer  with  a  half-pity- 
ing smile. 

'  "  Perhaps  he  will  die  ;  perhaps  not.  What 
does  it  matter?  One  born  of  such  parents  is 
dead  to  \TTtue  from  the  beginning,  and  life  with- 
out virtue  is  not  life." 

'"  He  might  try  Amar-nath  and  the  remission 
of  sins  you  believe  in  so  firmly,"  remarked  Taylor, 
with  another  look  at  me. 

'  Victor  Emanuel  spat  freely.  "  There  is  no 
Amar-nath  for  such  as  he,  and  the  Presence 
knows  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Xo  remission  at  all, 
even  if  he  found  the  Flower  of  Forgiveness,  as  the 
doctor  sahib  hopes  to  do." 

' "  Upon  my  soul,"  retorted  Taylor  impatiently, 
"  I  believe  the  existence  of  the  one  is  about  as 
credible  as  the  other.  I  shall  have  to  swallow 
both  if  I  chance  upon  either." 


22  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

' "  That  may  be ;  but  not  for  the  boy  Amra. 
He  will  die  and  be  damned  in  due  course." 

'  That  seemed  to  settle  the  question  for  others, 
but  I  was  haunted  by  the  boy's  look  when  he 
heard  the  words,  "  Thou  art  uncleansable  for  ever 
and  ever." 

* "  After  all  'tis  only  a  concentrated  form  of  the 
feeling  we  all  have  at  times,"  remarked  Taylor 
drily ;  "  even  I  should  like  to  do  away  with  a 
portion  of  my  past.  Besides,  all  religions  claim 
more  or  less  a  monopoly  of  repentance.  They  are 
no  worse  here  than  at  home." 

'  We  journeyed  slowly  to  Amar-nath,  watching 
the  pilgrims  pass  us  by  on  the  road,  but  catching 
them  up  again  each  evening  after  long  rambles 
over  the  hills  in  search  of  rare  plants.  It  is 
three  days'  march,  by  rights,  to  Shisha  ISTag, 
or  the  Leaden  Lake  where  the  pilgrimage 
begins  in  real  earnest  by  the  pilgrims,  men, 
women,  and  children,  divesting  themselves  of 
every  stitch  of  raiment,  and  journeying  stark 
naked  through  the  snow  and  ice  for  two  days — 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  23 

coming  back,  of  course,  clothed  with  righteousness. 
But,  Taylor  becoming  interested  over  fungi  in  the 
chestnut  woods  of  Chandanwarra,  we  paused 
there  to  hunt  up  all  sorts  of  deathly-looking 
growths  due  to  disease  and  decay.  I  was  not 
sorry ;  for  one  pilgrim  possessed  by  frantic  haste 
to  shift  his  sins  to  some  scapegoat  is  very  much 
like  another  pilgrim  with  the  same  desire ;  be- 
sides, I  grew  tired  of  Victor  Emanuel,  who  felt  the 
cold  extremely,  and  was  in  consequence  seldom 
sober,  and  extremely  loquacious.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  such  a  dreary  place  as  Shisha  Nag, 
though  the  sun  shone  brilliantly  on  its  cliffs  and 
glaciers.  I  think  it  must  have  been  the  irrespon- 
siveness  of  the  lake  itself  which  deadened  its 
beauties,  for  the  water,  surcharged  with  gypsum, 
lay  in  pale  green  stretches,  refusing  a  single  reflec- 
tion of  the  hills  which  held  it  so  carefully. 

'  The  next  march  was  awful ;  and  in  more  than 
one  place,  half  hidden  by  the  flowers  forcing  their 
way  through  the  snow,  lay  the  corpses  of  pilgrims 
who  had  succumbed  to  the  cold  and  the  exposure. 


24  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

' "  Pneumonia  in  five  out  of  six  cases,"  remarked 
Taylor  casually.  "  If  it  were  not  for  the  churrus 
(concoction  of  hemp)  they  drink  the  mortality 
would  be  fearful.  I  wonder  what  Exeter  Hall 
would  say  to  getting  drunk  for  purposes  of  devo- 
tion ? " 

'At  Punjtarni  we  met  the  returning  pilgrims: 
among  others  Victor,  very  sick  and  sorry  for  him- 
self physically,  but  of  intolerable  moral  strength. 
He  told  us,  between  the  intervals  of  petitions  foi- 
pills  and  potions,  that  the  remaining  fourteen 
miles  to  the  Cave  were  unusually  difficult,  and 
had  been  singularly  fatal  that  year.  On  hearing 
this,  Taylor,  knowing  my  dislike  to  horrors,  pro- 
posed taking  a  path  across  the  hills  instead  of 
keeping  to  the  orthodox  route.  Owing  to  scarcity 
of  water  and  fuel  the  servants  and  tents  could 
only  go  some  five  miles  farther  along  the  ravine, 
so  this  suggestion  would  involve  no  change  of 
plan.  He  added  that  there  would  also  be  a  greater 
chance  of  finding  "  that  blessed  anemone."  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  so  much  drunkenness  or  so  much 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  25 

devotion  as  I  saw  that  evening  at  Punjtarni.  It 
was  hard  indeed  to  tell  where  the  one  began  and 
the  other  ended ;  for  excitement,  danger,  and 
privation  lent  their  aid  to  drugs,  and  a  sense  of 
relief  to  both.  The  very  cliffs  and  glaciers  re- 
sounded with  enthusiasm,  and  I  saw  Sukya  and 
Premi  taking  their  part  with  the  rest  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

'Taylor  and  I  started  alone  next  morning. 
We  were  to  make  a  long  round  in  search  of  the 
Flower  of  Forgiveness,  and  came  back  upon  the 
Cave  towards  afternoon.  The  path,  if  path  it 
could  be  called,  was  fearful,  Taylor,  however,  was 
untiring,  and  at  the  slightest  hint  of  hope  would 
strike  off'  up  the  most  break-neck  places,  leaving 
me  to  rejoin  him  as  best  I  could.  Yet  not  a 
trace  did  we  find  of  the  anemone.  Taylor  gTcw 
fretful,  and  when  we  reached  the  snow-slope  lead- 
ing to  the  Cave,  he  declared  it  would  be  sheer 
waste  of  time  for  him  to  go  up. 

'  "  Get  rid  of  your  sins,  if  you  want  to,  by  all 
means,"  he  said ;  "  I've  seen  photographs  of  the 


26  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

place,  and  it's  a  wretched  imposture  even  as  a 
spectacle.     You  have  only  to  keep  up  the  snow 
for  a  mile  and  turn  to  the  left.     You'll  find  me 
somewhere  about  these  cliffs  on  your  return ;  and 
don't  be  long,  for  the  going  before  us  is  difficult." 
So  I  left  him  poking  into  every  crack  and  cranny. 
'  I  could  scarcely  make  up  my  mind  if  I  was 
impressed  or  disappointed  with  the  Cave.      Its 
extreme    insignificance    was,   it    is    true,   almost 
ludicrous.     Save  for  a  patch  of  red  paint  and  a 
shockingly  bad  attempt  at  a  stone  image  of  Siva's 
bull,  there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  this  hollow 
in  the  rock  from  a  thousand  similar  ones  all  over 
the  Himalayas.     But  this  very  insignificance  gave 
mystery  to  the  fact  that  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  the  conscience-stricken  had  found  consolation 
here.     "  What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  to 
see  ?  "     As  I  stood  for  an  instant  at  the  entrance 
before  retracing  my  steps,  I  could  not  but  think 
that  here  was  a  wilderness  indeed — a  wilderness 
of  treacherous  snow  and  ice-bound  rivers  peaked 
and   piled    up    tumultuously   like   frozen   waves 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  27 

against  the  darkening  sky.  The  memory  of 
Taylor's  warning  not  to  be  late  made  me  try  what 
seemed  a  shorter  and  easier  path  than  the  one 
by  which  I  had  come ;  but  ere  long  the  usual 
difficulties  of  short  cuts  cropped  up,  and  I  had 
eventually  to  limp  back  to  the  slope  with  a  badly 
cut  ankle,  which  bled  profusely  despite  my  rough 
efforts  at  bandaging.  The  loss  of  blood  was 
sufficient  to  make  me  feel  quite  sick  and  faint,  so 
that  it  startled  me  to  come  suddenly  on  Taylor 
sooner  than  I  expected.  He  was  half  kneeling, 
half  sitting  on  the  snow ;  his  coat  was  off,  and  his 
face  bent  over  something  propped  against  his  arm. 

' "  It's  that  boy,"  he  said  shortly,  as  I  came  up. 
"  I  found  him  just  after  you  left,  l}TJig  here, — to 
rest,  he  says.  It  seems  he  has  been  making  his 
way  to  the  Cave  ever  since  that  day,  without  bite 
or  sup,  by  the  hills, — God  knows  how — to  avoid 
beiQg  turned  back  by  the  others.  And  now  he  is 
dying,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

'  "  The  boy, — not  Amra  ! "  I  cried,  bending  in 
my  tui'n. 


28  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

'  Sure  enough,  on  Taylor's  arm,  with  Taylor's 
coat  over  his  wasted  body,  lay  the  young  disciple. 
His  great  luminous  eyes  looked  out  of  a  face 
whence  even  death  could  not  drive  the  beauty, 
and  his  breath  came  in  laboured  gasps. 

' "  Brandy !  I  have  some  here,"  I  suggested  in 
hot  haste,  moved  to  the  idiotic  suggestion  by  that 
horror  of  standing  helpless  which  besets  us  all  in 
presence  of  the  Destroyer. 

'  Taylor  looked  at  the  boy  with  a  grave  smile 
and  shook  his  head.  "  To  begin  with,  he  wouldn't 
touch  it ;  besides,  he  is  past  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
No  one  could  help  him  now."  He  paused,  shifting 
the  weight  a  little  on  his  arm. 

'"The  Presence  will  grow  tired  holding  me," 
gasped  the  young  voice  feebly.  "  If  the  sahib  will 
put  a  stone  under  my  head  and  cover  me  with 
some  snow,  I  will  be  able  to  crawl  on  by  and  by 
when  I  am  rested.     For  it  is  close, — quite  close." 

' "  Very  close,"  muttered  the  doctor  under  his 
breath.  Suddenly  he  looked  up  at  me,  saying  in 
a  half  -  apologetic  way,  "  1  was  wondering  if  you 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  29 

and  I  couldn't  get  him  up  there, — to  Amar-nath 
I  mean.  Life  has  been  hard  on  him ;  he  deserves 
an  easy  death." 

'  "  Of  course  we  can,"  I  cried  in  a  rush  of  content 
at  the  suggestion,  as  I  hobbled  round  to  get  to  the 
other  side,  and  so  help  the  lad  to  his  legs. 

' "Hollo,"  asked  Taylor,  with  a  quick  professional 
glance,  "  what  have  you  done  to  your  ankle  ? 
Sit  down  and  let  me  overhaul  it." 

'  In  vain  I  made  light  of  it,  in  vain  I  appealed 
to  him.  He  peremptorily  forbade  my  stirring  for 
another  hour,  asserting  that  I  had  injured  a  small 
artery,  and  without  caution  might  find  difficulty 
in  reaching  the  tents,  as  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  help  me  much  on  the  sort  of  ground 
over  which  we  had  to  travel. 

'  "  But  the  boy,  Taylor  1 — the  boy  !  "  T  pleaded. 
"  It  would  be  awful  to  leave  him  here. ' 

' "  Who  said  he  was  to  be  left  ? "  retorted  the 
doctor  crossly.  "I'm  going  to  carry  him  up  as 
soon  as  I've  finished  bandaging  your  leg.  Don't 
be  in  such  a  blessed  hurry." 


30  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

' "  Carry  him !  You  can't  do  it  up  that 
slope,  strong  as  you  are,  Taylor, — I  know  you 
can't." 

' "  Can't  ? "  he  echoed,  as  he  stood  up  from  his 
labours.  "Look  at  him  and  say  can't  again — if 
you  can." 

'I  looked  and  saw  that  the  boy,  but  half- 
conscious,  yet  restored  to  the  memory  of  his 
object  by  the  touch  of  the  snow  on  which  Taylor 
had  laid  him  while  engaged  in  bandaging  my 
foot,  had  raised  himself  painfully  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  was  struggling  upwards,  blindly, 
doggedly. 

' "  Damn  it  all,"  continued  the  doctor  fiercely, 
"isn't  that  sight  enough  to  haunt  a  man  if  he 
doesn't  try  ?  Besides,  I  may  find  that  precious 
flower, — who  knows  ? " 

'  As  he  spoke  he  stooped  with  the  gentleness, 
not  so  much  of  sympathy,  as  of  long  practice  in 
suffering,  over  the  figure  which,  exhausted  by  its 
brief  effort,  already  lay  prostrate  on  the 
snow. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  31 

'"What  is — the  Presence — going — to  do?" 
moaned  Amra  doubtfully,  as  he  felt  the  strong 
arms  close  round  liim. 

' "  You  and  I  are  going  to  find  the  remission  of 
sins  together  at  Amar-nath,"  replied  the  Presence 
with  a  bitter  laugh. 

'The  boy's  head  fell  back  on  the  doctor's 
shoulder  as  if  accustomed  to  the  resting-place. 
"  Amar  -  nath  ! "  he  murmured.  "  Yes  !  I  am 
Amar-nath." 

'  So  I  sat  there  helpless,  and  watched  them  up 
the  slope.  Every  slip,  every  stumble,  seemed  as 
if  it  were  my  own.  I  clenched  my  hands  and  set 
my  teeth  as  if  I  too  had  part  in  the  supreme  effort, 
and  when  the  straining  figure  passed  out  of  sight 
I  hid  my  face  and  tried  not  to  think.  It  was  the 
longest  hour  I  ever  spent  before  Taylor's  voice 
holloing  from  the  cliff  above  roused  me  to  the 
certainty  of  success. 

' "  And  the  boy  ? "  I  asked  eagerly. 

' "  Dead  by  this  time,  I  expect,"  replied  the 
doctor    shortly.       "  Come    on — there's    a    good 


32  THE  FLOWER  OF  FOEGIVENESS 

fellow — we  haven't  a  moment  to  lose.  I  mnst 
look  again  for  the  flower  to-morrow." 

'But  letters  awaiting  our  return  to  camp 
recalled  him  to  duty  on  account  of  cholera  in 
the  regiment ;  so  there  was  an  end  of  anemone 
hunting.  The  101st  suffered  terribly,  and  Taylor 
was  in  consequence  hotter  than  ever  over  experi- 
ments.    The  result  you  know.' 

'  Yes,  poor  fellow  !  but  the  anemone  ?  I  don't 
understand  how  it  came  here.' 

My  friend  paused.  'That  is  the  odd  thing. 
I  was  looking  after  the  funeral  and  all  that,  for 
Taylor  and  I  were  great  friends, — he  left  me  that 
herbarium  in  memory  of  our  time  in  Cashmere — 
well,  when  I  went  over  to  the  house  about  an 
hour  before  to  see  everything  done  properly, 
his  bearer  brought  me  one  of  those  little  flat 
straw  baskets  the  natives  use.  It  had  been 
left  during  my  absence,  he  said,  by  a  young 
Brahman,  who  assured  him  that  it  contained 
something  which  the  great  doctor  saMh  had 
been   very   anxious   to  possess,   and   which   was 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS  33 

now  sent  by  some  one  to  whom  he  had  been  very 
kmd. 

' "  You  told  Mm  the  sahib  was  dead,  I  suppose  ? " 
I  asked. 

' "  This  slave  informed  him  that  the  master  had 
gained  freedom,  but  he  replied  it  was  no  matter, 
as  all  his  task  was  this."  On  opening  the  basket 
I  found  a  gourd  such  as  the  disciples  carry  round 
for  alms,  and  in  it,  planted  among  gypsum  cUhris, 
was  that  anemone ;  or  rather  that  is  a  part  of  it, 
for  I  put  some  in  Taylor's  coffin.' 

'  Ah  !  I  presume  the  gosain — Victor  Emanuel, 
I  think  you  called  him — sent  the  plant ;  he  knew 
of  the  doctor's  desii-e  ? ' 

'  Perhaps.  The  bearer  said  the  Brahman  was 
a  very  handsome  boy,  very  fair,  dressed  in  the 
usual  black  antelope- skin  of  the  disciple.  It  is  a 
queer  story  anyhow, — is  it  not  ? ' 


VOL. 


HAEVEST 

[Respectfully  dedicated  to  our  law-makers  in  India,  who,  by 
giving  to  the  soldier-peasants  of  the  Punjab  the  novel  right 
of  alienating  their  ancestral  holdings,  are  fast  tliroAving  the 
land,  and  vdth  it  the  balance  of  power,  into  the  hands  of 
money-gi'ubbers  ;  thus  reducing  those  Avho  stood  by  us  in 
our  time  of  trouble  to  the  position  of  serfs.  ] 

'  Ai !  Daughter  of  thy  grandmother/  muttered 
old  Jaimul  gently,  as  one  of  his  yoke  wavered, 
making  the  handle  waver  also.  The  offender  was 
a  barren  buffalo  doomed  temporarily  to  the  plough, 
in  the  hopes  of  inducing  her  to  look  more  favour- 
ably on  the  first  duty  of  the  female  sex,  so  she 
started  beneath  the  unaccustomed  goad. 

'  Ari !  sister,  fret  not,'  muttered  Jaimul  again, 
turning  from  obscure  abuse  to  palpable  flattery, 
as  being  more  likely  to  gain  his  object ;  and  once 
more  the  tilted  soil  glided  between  his  feet,  traced 
straight  by  his  steady  hand.     In  that  vast  expanse 


HARVEST  3  5 

of  bare  brown  field  left  by  or  waiting  for  the 
plough,  each  new  furrow  seemed  a  fresh  diameter 
of  the  earth -circle  which  lay  set  in  the  bare 
blue  horizon — a  circle  centring  always  on  Jaimul 
and  his  plough.  A  brown  dot  for  the  buffalo,  a 
wliite  dot  for  the  ox,  a  brown  and  white  dot  for 
the  old  peasant  with  his  lanky  brown  limbs  and 
straight  white  drapery,  his  brown  face,  and  long 
w^iite  beard.  Brown,  and  white,  and  blue,  with 
the  promise  of  harvest  some  time  if  the  blue  was 
kind.  That  was  all  Jaimul  knew  or  cared.  The 
empire  beyond,  hanging  on  the  hope  of  harvest, 
lay  far  from  his  simple  imaginings ;  and  yet  he, 
the  old  peasant  with  his  steady  hand  of  patient 
control,  held  the  reins  of  government  over  how 
many  million  square  miles  ?  That  is  the  province 
of  the  Blue  Book,  and  Jaimul's  blue  book  was 
the  sky. 

'  Bitter  blue  sky  with  no  fleck  of  a  cloud, 
Ho  !  brother  ox  !  make  the  plough  speed. 

[Ai  !  soorin  !  straight,  I  say  !] 
'Tis  the  usurers'  bellies  wax  fat  and  proud 
When  poor  folk  are  in  need.' 


36  HARVEST 

The  rude  guttural  chant  following  these  silent, 

earth -deadened    footsteps   was    the   only   sound 

breaking  the  stillness  of  the  wide  plain. 

'  Sky  dappled  grey  like  a  partridge's  breast, 
Ho  !  brother  ox  !  drive  the  plough  deep. 
[Stead}--,  my  sister,  steady  !] 
The  peasants  work,  but  the  usurers  rest 
Till  harvest's  ripe  to  reap.' 

So  on  and  on  interminably,  the  chant  and  the 
furrow,  the  furrow  and  the  chant,  both  bringing 
the  same  refrain  of  flattery  and  abuse,  the  same 
antithesis  —  the  peasant  and  the  usurer  face  to 
face  in  conflict,  and  above  them  both  the  fateful 
sky,  changeless  or  changeful  as  it  chooses. 

The    sun   climbed   up   and   up   till   the   blue 

hardened  into  brass,  and  the  mere  thought  of  rain 

seemed  lost  in  the  blaze  of  light.     Yet  Jaimul, 

as  he  finally  unhitched  his  plough,  chanted  away 

in  serene  confidence — 

'  Merry  drops  slanting  from  west  to  east, 

Ho  !  brother  ox  !  drive  home  the  wain ; 
'Tis  the  usurer's  belly  that  gets  the  least 
When  Ram  sends  poor  folk  rain.' 

The  home  whither  he  drove  the  lagging  yoke 


HARVEST  37 

was  but  a  whitish- brown  mound  on  the  bare  earth- 
circle,  not  far  removed  from  an  ant-hill  to  alien 
eyes ;  for  all  that,  home  to  the  uttermost.  Civilisa- 
tion, education,  culture  could  produce  none  better. 
A  home  bright  with  the  welcome  of  women,  the 
laughter  of  children.  Old  Kishnu,  mother  of  them 
all,  wielding  a  relentless  despotism  tempered  by 
profound  affection  over  every  one  save  her  aged 
husband.  Pertabi,  widow  of  the  eldest  son,  but 
saved  from  degradation  in  this  life  and  damnation 
in  the  next  by  the  tall  lad  whose  grasp  had 
already  closed  on  his  grandfather's  plough-handle. 
Taradevi,  whose  soldier-husband  was  away  guard- 
ing some  scientific  or  unscientific  frontier,  while 
she  reared  up,  in  the  ancestral  home,  a  tribe  of 
sturdy  youngsters  to  follow  in  his  footsteps. 
Fighting  and  ploughing,  ploughing  and  fighting; 
here  was  life  epitomised  for  these  long -limbed, 
grave-eyed  peasants  whose  tongues  never  faltered 
over  the  shibboleth  which  showed  their  claim  to 
rasje.^ 

Runjeet  Singh  never  enlisted  a  man  who,  in  counting  up 


38  HARVEST 

The  home  itself  lay  bare  for  the  most  part  to 
the  blue  sky ;  only  a  few  shallow  outhouses,  half 
room,  half  verandah,  giving  shelter  from  noon-day 
heat  or  winter  frosts.      The  rest  was  courtyard, 
serving  amply  for  all  the  needs  of  the  household. 
In  one  corner  a  pile  of  golden  chaff  ready  for  the 
milch  kine  which  came  in  to  be  fed  from  the  mud 
mangers  ranged  against  the  wall ;  in  another  a 
heap  of  fuel,  and  the  tall  beehive -like  mud  re- 
ceptacles   for   grain.      On   every   side   stores   of 
something  brought  into  existence  by  the  plough 
— corn-cobs   for   husking,  millet  -  stalks   for   the 
cattle,    cotton    awaiting    deft    fingers    and    the 
lacquered   spinning-wheels  which   stand,  cocked 
on  end,  against  the  wall.      Taradevi  sits  on  the 
white  sheet  spread  beneath  the  quern,  while  her 
eldest  daughter,  a  girl  about   ten  years  of  age, 
lends  slight  aid  to  the  revolving  stones  whence 
the  coarse  flour  falls  ready  for  the  mid -day  meal. 

to  thirty  said  piich-is  for  five-and-twenty,  but  those  who  said 
punj-is  were  passed.  In  other  words,  the  patois  was  made  a 
test  of  whether  the  recruit  belonged  to  the  Trans-Sutlej  tribes 
or  the  Cis-Sutlej. 


HARVEST  39 

Pertabi,  down  by  the  grain  -  bunkers,  rakes  more 
wheat  from  the  funnel -like  opening  into  her  flat 
basket,  and  as  she  rises  flings  a  handful  to  the 
pigeons  sidling  on  the  wall.  A  fluttering  of  white 
wings,  a  glint  of  sunlight  on  opaline  necks,  while 
the  children  cease  playing  to  watch  their  favourites 
tumble  and  strut  over  the  feast.  Even  old  Kishnu 
looks  up  from  her  preparation  of  curds  without  a 
word  of  warning  against  waste ;  for  to  be  short  of 
grain  is  beyond  her  experience.  Wherefore  was 
the  usurer  brought  into  the  world  save  to  supply 
grain  in  advance  when  the  blue  sky  sided  with 
capital  against  labour  for  a  dry  year  or  two  ? 

'  The  land  is  ready,'  said  old  Jaimul  over  his 
pipe.  '  'Tis  time  for  the  seed,  therefore  I  will  seek 
Anunt  Eam  at  sunset  and  set  my  seal  to  the  paper.' 

That  was  how  the  transaction  presented  itself 
to  his  accustomed  eyes.  Seed  grain  in  exchange 
for  yet  another  seal  to  be  set  in  the  long  row  which 
he  and  his  forebears  had  planted  regularly,  year  by 
year,  in  the  usurer's  field  of  accounts.  As  for' the 
harvests  of  such  sowings  ?    Bah  !  there  never  were 


40  HARVEST 

any.  A  real  crop  of  solid,  hard,  red  wheat  was 
worth  them  all,  and  that  came  sometunes — might 
come  any  time  if  the  blue  sky  was  kind.  He 
knew  nothing  of  Statutes  of  Limitation  or  judg- 
ments of  the  Chief  Court,  and  his  inherited  wisdom 
drew  a  broad  line  of  demarcation  between  paper 
and  plain  facts. 

Anunt  Ram,  the  usurer,  however,  was  of 
another  school.  A  comparatively  young  man, 
he  had  brought  into  his  father's  ancestral  business 
the  modern  selfishness  which  laughs  to  scorn  all 
considerations  save  that  for  Number  One.  He 
and  his  forebears  had  made  much  out  of  Jaimul 
and  his  fellows  ;  but  was  that  any  reason  against 
making  more,  if  more  was  to  be  made  ? 

And  more  was  indubitably  to  be  made  if  Jaimul 
and  his  kind  were  reduced  to  the  level  of  labourers. 
That  handful  of  grain,  for  instance,  thrown  so  reck- 
lessly to  the  pigeons — that  might  be  the  usurer's, 
and  so  might  the  plenty  which  went  to  build  up 
the  long,  strong  limbs  of  Taradevi's  tribe  of  young 
soldiers — idle  young   scamps  who  thrashed   the 


HARVEST  41 

usurer's  boys  as  diligently  during  play -time  as 
they  were  beaten  by  those  clever  weedy  lads 
during  school-hours. 

'  Seed  grain/  he  echoed  sulkily  to  the  old 
peasant's  calm  demand.  '  Sure  last  harvest  I  left 
thee  more  wheat  than  most  men  in  my  place 
would  have  done  ;  for  the  account  grows,  O 
Jaimul  1  and  the  land  is  mortgaged  to  the 
uttermost.' 

*  Mayhap  !  but  it  must  be  sown  for  all  that,  else 
thou  wilt  suffer  as  much  as  I.  So  quit  idle  words, 
and  give  the  seed  as  thou  hast  since  time  began. 
Wliat  do  I  know  of  accounts  who  can  neither  read 
nor  write  ?     'Tis  thy  business,  not  mine.' 

'  'Tis  not  my  business  to  give  ought  for  nought 

'  For  nought ! '  broke  in  Jaimul  with  the  hoarse 
chuckle  of  the  peasant  availing  himself  of  a  time- 
worn  joke.  *  Thou  canst  add  that  nought  to  thy 
figures,  0  hunniah-ji! ^     So  bring  the  paper  and 

^  Bumiiah,  a  mercliant.      Bunniah-ji  signifies,  as  Shake- 
speare would  have  said.  Sir  Merchant. 


42  HARVEST 

have  clone  with  words.  If  Earn  sends  rain — and 
the  omens  are  auspicious — thou  canst  take  all  but 
food  and  jewels  for  the  women.' 

'Report  saith  thy  house  is  rich  enough  in 
them  already/  suggested  the  usurer  after  a 
pause. 

Jaimul's  big  white  eyebrows  met  over  his 
broad  nose.  '  What  then,  hunniah  -ji  ? '  he  asked 
haughtily. 

Anunt  Ram  made  haste  to  change  the  subject, 
whereat  Jaimul,  smiling  softly,  told  the  usurer 
that  maybe  more  jewels  would  be  needed  with  next 
seed  grain,  since  if  the  auguries  were  once  more 
propitious,  the  women  purposed  bringing  home  his 
grandson's  bride  ere  another  year  had  sped.  The 
usurer  smiled  an  evil  smile. 

'  Set  thy  seal  to  this  also,'  he  said,  when  the 
seed  grain  had  been  measured  ;  '  the  rules  demand 
it.  A  plague,  say  I,  on  all  these  new-fangled 
papers  the  saliih-logue  ask  of  us.  Look  you  !  how 
I  have  to  pay  for  the  stamps  and  fees  ;  and  then 
you  old  ones  say  we  new  ones  are  extortionate. 


HARVEST  43 

AVe  must  live,  0  zemindar  -ji !  ^  even  as  thoii 
livest.' 

'  Live ! '  retorted  the  old  man  with  another 
chuckle.      '  Wherefore   not !      The  land   is   Q-ood 

o 

enough  for  you  and  for  me.  There  is  no  fault  in 
the  land  ! ' 

'  Ay  !  it  is  good  enough  for  me  and  for  you/ 
echoed  the  usurer  slowly.  He  inverted  the  pro- 
nouns— that  w^as  all. 

So  Jaimul,  as  he  had  done  ever  since  he  could 
remember,  walked  over  the  bare  plain  with  noise- 
less feet,  and  watched  the  sun  flash  on  the  golden 
grain  as  it  flew  from  his  thin  brown  fingers.  And 
once  again  the  guttural  chant  kept  time  to  his 
silent  steps. 

'  Wheat  grains  grow  to  wheat, 

And  the  seed  of  a  tare  to  tare  ; 
Who  knows  if  man's  soul  will  meet 
Man's  body  to  wear  ? 

Great  Eam,  grant  me  life 

From  the  grain  of  a  golden  deed  ; 

Sink  not  my  soul  in  the  strife 
To  wake  as  a  weed.' 

^  Zciiiindar-ji,  Sir  Squire. 


44  HARVEST 

After  that  his  work  in  the  fields  was  over. 
Only  at  sunrise  and  sunset  his  tall,  gaunt  figure 
stood  out  against  the  circling  sky  as  he  wandered 
through  the  sprouting  wheat  waiting  for  the  rain 
which  never  came.  Not  for  the  first  time  in  his  long 
life  of  waiting,  so  he  took  the  want  calmly,  soberly. 

'  It  is  a  bad  year,'  he  said,  '  the  next  will  be 
better.  For  the  sake  of  the  boy's  marriage  I 
would  it  had  been  otherwise,  but  Anunt  Earn 
must  advance  the  money.     It  is  his  business.' 

Whereat  Jodha,  the  youngest  son,  better  versed 
than  his  father  in  new  ways,  shook  his  head 
doubtfully.  '  Have  a  care  of  Anunt,  0  haha-ji,'  ^ 
he  suggested  with  diffidence.  '  Folk  say  he  is 
sharper  than  ever  his  father  was.' 

''Tis  a  trick  sons  have,  or  think  they  have, 
nowadays,'  retorted  old  Jaimul  wrathfully.  'Anunt 
can  wait  for  payment  as  his  fathers  waited.  God 
knows  the  interest  is  enough  to  stand  a  dry  season 
or  two.' 

^  Baba,  as  a  term  of  familiarity,  is  applied  indifferently  to 
young  and  old. 


HARVEST  45 

In  truth  fifty  per  cent,  and  payment  in  kind 
at  the  lowest  harvest  rates,  with  a  free  hand  in 
regard  to  the  cooking  of  accounts,  should  have 
satisfied  even  a  usurer's  soul.  But  Anunt  Earn 
wanted  that  handful  of  grain  for  the  pigeons  and 
the  youngsters'  mess  of  pottage.  He  wanted  the 
land,  in  fact,  and  so  the  long  row  of  dibbled-in  seals 
dotting  the  unending  scroll  of  accounts  began  to 
sprout  and  bear  fruit.  Drought  gave  them  life, 
while  it  brought  death  to  many  a  better  seed. 

'  Not  give  the  money  for  the  boy's  wedding ! ' 
shrilled  old  Kishnu  six  months  after  in  high  dis- 
pleasure. '  Is  the  man  mad  ?  When  the  fields 
are  the  best  in  all  the  country-side.' 

'  True  enough,  0  wife !  but  he  says  the  value 
under  these  new  rules  the  saJiih-logue  make  is  gone 
already.  That  he  must  wait  another  harvest,  or 
have  a  new  seal  of  me.' 

'  Is  that  all,  0  Jaimul  Singh  !  and  thou  causing 
my  liver  to  melt  with  fear  ?  A  seal — what  is  a 
seal  or  two  more  against  the  son  of  thy  son's 
marriage  ? ' 


46  HARVEST 

'  'Tis  a  new  seal,'  muttered  Jaimul  uneasily, 
'  and  I  like  not  new  things.  Perhaps  'twere  better 
to  wait  the  harvest.' 

'  Wait  the  harvest  and  lose  the  auspicious  time 
the  purohit^  hath  found  written  in  the  stars  ?  Ai, 
Taradevi !  Ai,  Pertabi !  there  is  to  be  no 
marriage,  hark  you  1  The  boy's  strength  is  to  go 
for  nought,  and  the  bride  is  to  languish  alone 
because  the  father  of  his  father  is  afraid  of  a 
usurer !     Had,  Had  ! ' 

The  women  wept  the  easy  tears  of  their  race, 
mingled  with  half-real,  half-pretended  fears  lest 
the  Great  Ones  might  resent  such  disregard  of  their 
good  omens — the  old  man  sitting  silent  meanwhile, 
for  there  is  no  tyranny  like  the  tyranny  of  those 
we  love.  Despite  all  this  his  native  shrewdness 
held  his  tenderness  in  check.  They  would  get  over 
it,  he  told  himself,  and  a  good  harvest  would  do 
wonders — ay  !  even  the  wonders  which  the  pitroliit 
was  always  finding  in  the  skies.     Trust  a  good  fee 

^  PuroJdt,  a  spiritual  teacher,  a  sage,    answering  in  some 
respects  to  the  Red  Indian's  medicine-man. 


HARVEST  47 

for  that !  So  he  hardened  his  heart,  went  back  to 
Anunt  Ram,  and  told  him  that  he  had  decided  on 
postponing  the  marriage.  The  usurer's  face  fell. 
To  be  so  near  the  seal  which  would  make  it 
possible  for  him  to  foreclose  the  mortgages,  and 
yet  to  fail !  He  had  counted  on  this  marriage  fbr 
years ;  the  blue  sky  itself  had  fought  for  him  so 
far,  and  now — what  if  the  coming  harvest  were  a 
bumper  ? 

'But  I  will  seal  for  the  seed  grain,'  said  old 
Jaimul ;  '  I  have  done  that  before,  and  I  will  do  it 
again — we  know  that  bargain  of  old.' 

Anunt  Eam  closed  his  pen-tray  with  a  snap. 
'  There  is  no  seed  grain  for  you,  haha-Ji,  this  year 
either,'  he  replied  calmly. 

Ten  days  afterwards,  Kishnu,  Pertabi,  and 
Taradevi  w^ere  bustling  about  the  courtyard  with 
the  untiring  energy  which  fills  the  Indian  woman 
over  the  mere  thought  of  a  wedding,  and  Jaimul, 
out  in  the  fields,  was  chanting  as  he  scattered  the 
grain  into  the  fiu^rows — 


48  HARVEST 

'  Wrinkles  and  seams  and  sears 
On  the  face  of  our  mother  earth  ; 
There  are  ever  sorrows  and  tears 
At  the  gates  of  birth.' 

The  mere  thought  of  the  land  lying  fallow  had 
been  too  much  for  him ;  so  safe  in  the  usurer's 
strong-box  lay  a  deed  with  the  old  man's  seal 
sitting  cheek  by  jowl  beside  Anunt  Eam's  brand- 
new  English  signature.  And  Jaimul  knew,  in  a 
vague,  unrestful  way,  that  this  harvest  differed 
from  other  harvests,  in  that  more  depended  u]3on 
it.  So  he  wandered  oftener  than  ever  over  the 
brown  expanse  of  field  where  a  flush  of  green 
showed  that  Mother  Earth  had  done  her  part, 
and  was  waiting  for  Heaven  to  take  up  the 
task. 

The  wedding  fire-balloons  rose  from  the  court- 
yard, and  drifted  away  to  form  constellations  in 
the  cloudless  sky ;  the  sound  of  wedding  drums 
and  pipes  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  starlit 
nights,  and  still  day  by  day  the  green  shoots  grew 
lighter  and  lighter  in  colour  because  the  rain  came 
not.     Then  suddenly,  like  a  man's  hand,  a  little 


HARVEST  49 

cloud !  '  Meny  drops  slanting  from  west  to  the 
east ' ;  merrier  by  far  to  Jaimiil's  ears  than  all  the 
marriage  music  was  that  low  rumble  from  the 
canopy  of  purple  cloud,  and  the  discordant  scream 
of  the  peacock  telling  of  the  storm  to  come.  Then 
in  the  evening,  when  the  setting  sun  could  only 
send  a  bar  of  pale  primrose  light  between  the  solid 
purple  and  the  solid  brown,  what  joy  to  pick  a  dry- 
shod  way  along  the  boundary  ridges  and  see  the 
promise  of  harvest  doubled  by  the  reflection  of  each 
tender  green  spikelet  in  the  flooded  fields  !  The 
night  settled  down  dark,  heavenly  dark,  with  a 
fine  spray  of  steady  rain  in  the  old,  weather-beaten 
face,  as  it  set  itself  towards  home. 

The  blue  sky  was  on  the  side  of  labour  this 
time,  and,  durmg  the  next  month  or  so,  Taradevi's 
young  soldiers  made  mud  pies,  and  crowed  more 
lustily  than  ever  over  the  hunniah's  boys. 

Then  the  silvery  beard  began  to  show  in  the 

wheat,   and   old    Jaimul    laughed   aloud   in   the 

fulness  of  his  heart. 

'  That  is  an  end  of  the  new  seal,'  he  said  boast- 
VOL.  I  E 


50  HARVEST 

fully,  as  he  smoked  his  pipe  in  the  village 
square.  'It  is  a  poor  man's  harvest,  and  no 
mistake.' 

But  Anunt  Earn  was  silent.  The  April  sun  had 
given  some  of  its  sunshine  to  the  yellowing  crops 
before  he  spoke. 

'  I  can  wait  no  longer  for  my  money,  0  haba-ji/' 
he  said;  'the  three  years  are  nigh  over,  and  I 
must  defend  myself.' 

'  What  three  years  ? '  asked  Jaimul,  in  per- 
plexity. 

'  The  three  years  during  which  I  can  claim  my 
own  according  to  the  saliih-logue  s  rule.  You  must 
pay,  or  I  must  sue.' 

'  Pay  before  harvest !  What  are  these  fool's 
words  ?  Of  course  I  will  pay  in  due  time ;  hath 
not  great  Eam  sent  me  rain  to  wash  out  the  old 
writing  ? ' 

'  But  what  of  the  new  one,  haha-ji  ? — the  cash 
lent  on  permission  to  foreclose  the  mortgages  ? ' 

'  If  the  harvest  failed — if  it  failed,'  protested 
Jaimul,  quickly.     '  And  I  knew  it  could  not  fail. 


HAKVEST  51 

The  stars  said  so,  and  great  Ram  would  not  have 
it  so.' 

'  That  is  old-world  talk  ! '  sneered  Anunt.  'We 
do  not  put  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  bond.  You 
sealed  it,  and  I  must  sue.' 

'  What  good  to  sue  ere  harvest  ?  What  money 
have  I  ?  But  I  will  pay  good  grain  when  it  comes, 
and  the  paper  can  grow  as  before.' 

Anunt  Earn  sniggered. 

'  What  good,  0  haba-ji  ?  Why,  the  land  will  be 
mine,  and  I  can  take,  not  what  you  give  me,  but 
what  I  choose.  For  the  labourer  his  hire,  and  the 
rest  for  me.' 

'  Thou  art  mad ! '  cried  Jaimul,  but  he  went 
back  to  his  fields  with  a  crreat  fear  at  his  heart — 

o 

a  fear  which  sent  him  a^ain  to  the  usurer's  ere 
many  days  were  over. 

'Here  are  my  house's  jewels,'  he  said  briefly, 
'  and  the  mare  thou  hast  coveted  these  two  years. 
Take  them,  and  write  off  my  debt  till  harvest.' 

Anunt  Ram  smiled  again. 

'  It  shall  be  part  payment  of  the  acknowledged 


52  HARVEST 

claim,'  he  said;  'let  the  Courts  decide  on  the 
rest.' 

'  After  the  harvest  ? ' 

'  Ay,  after  the  harvest ;  in  consideration  of  the 
jewels.' 

Anunt  Earn  kept  his  word,  and  the  fields  were 
shorn  of  their  crop  ere  the  summons  to  attend 
the  District  Court  was  brought  to  the  old  peasant. 

'  By  the  Great  Spirit  who  judges  all  it  is  a  lie!' 
That  was  all  he  could  say  as  the  long,  carefully- 
woven  tissue  of  fraud  and  cunning  blinded  even 
the  eyes  of  a  justice  biassed  in  his  favour.  The 
records  of  our  Indian  law-courts  teem  with  such 
cases — cases  where  even  equity  can  do  nothing 
against  the  evidence  of  pen  and  paper.  No  need 
to  detail  the  strands  which  formed  the  net.  The 
long  array  of  seals  had  borne  fruit  at  last,  fifty- 
fold,  sixtyfold,  a  hundredfold — a  goodly  harvest 
for  the  usurer. 

'  Look  not  so  glum,  friend,'  smiled  Anunt  Earn, 
as  they  pushed  old  Jaimul  from  the  Court  at  last, 
dazed,   but   still   vehemently   protesting.     'Thou 


HARVEST  53 

and  Joclha  thy  son  shall  till  the  land  as  ever,  see- 
ing thou  art  skilled  in  such  work,  but  there  shall 
be  no  idlers ;  and  the  land,  mark  you,  is  mine,  not 
thine.' 

A  sudden  gleam  of  furious  hate  sprang  to  the 
strong  old  face,  but  died  away  as  quickly  as  it 
came. 

'  Thou  liest,'  said  Jaimul ;  '  I  will  appeal.  The 
land  is  mine.  It  hath  been  mine  and  my  fathers' 
under  the  king's  pleasure  since  time  began. 
Kings,  ay,  and  queens,  for  tliat  matter,  are  not 
fools,  to  give  good  land  to  the  hwinicclis  belly. 
Can  a  hunniah  plough  ? ' 

Yet  as  he  sat  all  day  about  the  court-house 
steps  awaiting  some  legal  detail  or  other,  doubt 
even  of  his  own  increduhty  came  over  him.  He 
had  often  heard  of  similar  misfortunes  to  his 
fellows,  but  somehow  the  possibility  of  such  evil 
appearing  in  his  own  life  had  never  entered  his 
brain.  And  what  would  Kishnu  say — after  all 
these  years,  these  long  years  of  content  ? 

The  moon  gathering  light  as  the  sun  set  shone 


54  HARVEST 

full  on  the  road,  as  the  old  man,  with  downcast 
head,  made  his  way  across  the  level  plain  to  the 
mud  hovel  which  had  been  a  true  home  to  him 
and  his  for  centuries.  His  empty  hands  hung  at 
his  sides,  and  the  fingers  twitched  nervously  as  if 
seeking  something.  On  either  side  the  bare 
stubble,  stretching  away  from  the  track  which  led 
deviously  to  the  scarce  discernible  hamlets  here 
and  there.  Not  a  soul  in  sight,  but  every  now 
and  again  a  glimmer  of  light  showing  where  some 
one  was  watching  the  heaps  of  new  threshed  grain 
upon  the  threshing-floors. 

And  then  a  straighter  thread  of  path  leading 
right  upon  his  own  fields  and  the  village  beyond. 
What  was  that  ?  A  man  riding  before  him.  The 
blood  leapt  through  the  old  veins,  and  the  old 
hands  gripped  in  upon  themselves.  So  he — that 
liar  riding  ahead — was  to  have  the  land,  was  he  ? 
Eiding  the  mare  too,  while  he,  Jaimul,  came  be- 
hind afoot, — yet  for  all  that  gaining  steadily  with 
long,  swinging  stride  on  the  figure  ahead.  A 
white  figure  on  a  white  horse  like  death  ;  or  was 


HARVEST  5  5 

the  avenger   beliiiicl   beneath   the   lank   folds   of 
drapery  which  fluttered  round  the  walker  ? 

The  land !  Xo  !  He  should  never  have  the 
land.  How  could  he  ?  The  very  idea  was  absurd. 
Jaimul,  thinking  thus,  held  his  head  erect  and  his 
hands  relaxed  their  grip.  He  was  close  on  the 
rider  now,  and  just  before  him,  clear  in  the  moon- 
light, rose  the  boundary  mark  of  his  fields — a 
loose  pile  of  sun-baked  clods,  hardened  by  many  a 
dry  year  of  famine  to  the  endurance  of  stone. 
Beside  it,  the  shallow  whence  they  had  been  dug, 
showing  a  gleam  of  water  still  held  in  the  stiff 
clay.  The  mare  paused,  straining  at  the  bridle 
for  a  drink,  and  Jaimul  almost  at  her  heels 
paused  also,  involuntarily,  mechanically.  For  a 
moment  they  stood  thus,  a  silent  white  group  in 
the  moonhght,  then  the  figure  on  the  horse 
slipped  to  the  ground  and  moved  a  step  forward. 
Only  one  step,  but  that  was  within  the  boundary. 
Then,  above  the  even  wheeze  of  the  thirsty  beast, 
rose  a  low  chuckle  as  the  usurer  stooped  for  a 
handful  of  soil  and  let  it  glide  through  his  fingers. 


56  HARVEST 

'  It  is  good  ground  !  Ay,  ay — none  better.' 
They  were  his  last  words.  In  fierce  passion  of 
love,  hate,  jealousy,  and  protection,  old  Jaimul 
closed  on  his  enemy,  and  found  something  to  grip 
with  his  steady  old  hands.  Not  the  plough - 
handle  this  time,  but  a  throat,  a  warm,  living 
throat  where  you  could  feel  the  blood  swellmg  in 
the  veins  beneath  your  fingers.  Down  almost 
without  a  struggle,  the  old  face  above  the  young 
one,  the  lank  knee  upon  the  broad  body.  And 
now,  quick  !  for  something  to  slay  withal,  ere  age 
tired  in  its  contest  with  youth  and  strength. 
There,  ready  since  all  time,  stood  the  landmark, 
and  one  clod  after  another  snatched  from  it  fell 
on  the  upturned  face  with  a  dull  thud.  Fell 
again  and  again,  crashed  and  broke  to  crumbling 
soil.  Good  soil !  Ay !  none  better !  Wheat 
might  grow  in  it  and  give  increase  fortyfold, 
sixtyfold,  ay,  a  hundredfold.  Again,  again,  and 
yet  again,  with  dull  insistence  till  there  was  a 
shuddering  sigh,  and  then  silence.  Jaimul  stood 
up  quivering  from  the  task  and  looked  over  his 


HARVEST  57 

fields.  They  were  at  least  free  from  that  thing 
at  his  feet ;  for  what  part  in  this  world's  harvest 
could  belong  to  the  ghastly  figure  with  its  face 
beaten  to  a  jelly,  which  lay  staring  up  into  the 
overarching  sky  ?  So  far,  at  any  rate,  the  business 
was  settled  for  ever,  and  in  so  short  a  time  that 
the  mare  had  scarcely  slaked  her  thirst,  and  still 
stood  with  head  dow^n,  the  water  dripping  from 
her  muzzle.  The  fJiinrj  would  never  ride  her 
again  either.  Half-involuntarily  he  stepped  to 
her  side  and  loosened  the  girth. 

'Art/  sister,'  he  said  aloud,  'thou  hast  had 
enough.     Go  home.' 

The  docile  beast  obeyed  his  well-known  \oice, 
and  as  her  echoing  amble  died  away  Jaimul 
looked  at  his  blood-stained  hands  and  then  at  the 
formless  face  at  his  feet.  There  was  no  home  for 
him,  and  yet  he  was  not  sorry,  or  ashamed,  or 
frightened — only  dazed  at  the  hurry  of  his  own 
act.  Such  things  had  to  be  done  sometimes  when 
folk  were  unjust.  They  would  hang  him  for  it,  of 
course,    but   he   had   at   least   made  his  protest, 


58  HARVEST 

and  done  his  deed  as  good  men  and  true  should 
do  when  the  time  came.  So  he  left  the  horror 
staring  up  into  the  sky  and  made  his  way  to  the 
threshing-floor,  which  lay  right  in  the  middle  of 
his  fields.  How  white  the  great  heaps  of  yellow 
corn  showed  in  the  moonlight,  and  how  large ! 
His  heart  leapt  with  a  fierce  joy  at  the  sight. 
Here  was  harvest  indeed !  Some  one  lay  asleep 
upon  the  biggest  pile,  and  his  stern  old  face  re- 
laxed into  a  smile  as,  stooping  over  the  careless 
sentinel,  he  found  it  was  his  grandson.  The  boy 
would  w^atch  better  as  he  grew  older,  thought 
Jaimul,  as  he  drew  his  cotton  plaid  gently  over 
the  smooth  round  limbs  outlined  among  the  yield- 
ing grain,  lest  the  envious  moon  might  covet  their 
promise  of  beauty. 

'  Son  of  my  son  !  Son  of  my  son  ! '  he  mur- 
mured over  and  over  again,  as  he  sat  down  to 
watch  out  the  night  beside  his  corn  for  the  last 
time.  Yes,  for  the  last  time.  At  dawn  the  deed 
would  be  discovered ;  they  would  take  him,  and  he 
would  not  deny  his  own  handiwork.    Why  should 


HARVEST  59 

he  ?  The  midnight  air  of  May  was  hot  as  a 
furnace,  and  as  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  fore- 
head it  mingled  with  the  dust  and  blood  upon  his 
hands.  He  looked  at  them  with  a  curious  smile 
before  he  lay  back  among  the  corn.  ]\Iany  a 
night  he  had  watched  the  slow  stars  wheeling  to 
meet  the  morn,  but  never  by  a  faii^er  harvest  than 
this. 

The  boy  at  his  side  stirred  in  his  sleep.  '  Son 
of  my  son !  Son  of  my  son  I '  came  the  low 
murmur  again.  Ay  !  and  his  son  after  him  again, 
if  the  woman  said  true.  It  had  always  been  so. 
Father  and  son,  father  and  son,  father — and  son — 
for  ever, — and  ever, — and  ever. 

So,  lulled  by  the  familiar  thought,  the  old  man 
fell  asleep  beside  the  boy,  and  the  whole  bare  ex- 
panse of  earth  and  sky  seemed  empty  save  for 
them.  Xo !  there  was  something  else  surely. 
Down  on  the  hard  white  threshing-floor — was 
that  a  branch  or  a  fragment  of  rope  ?  Neither,  for 
it  moved  deviously  hither  and  thither,  raising  a 
hooded  head  now  and  again  as  if  seeking  some- 


60  HARVEST 

thing ;  for  all  its  twists  and  turns  bearing  steadily 
towards  the  sleepers ;  past  the  boy,  making  him 
shift  uneasily  as  the  cold  coil  touched  his  arms ; 
swifter  now  as  it  drew  nearer  the  scent,  till  it 
found  what  it  sought  upon  the  old  man's  hands. -^ 

' Ari,  sister!  straight,  I  say,  straight!'  mur- 
mured the  old  ploughman  in  his  sleep,  as  his  grip 
strengthened  over  something  that  wavered  in  his 
steady  clasp.  Was  that  the  prick  of  the  goad  ? 
Sure  if  it  bit  so  deep  upon  the  sister's  hide  no 
wonder  she  started.  He  must  keep  his  grip  for 
men's  throats  when  sleep  was  over — when  this 
great  sleep  w^as  over. 

The  slow  stars  wheeled,  and  when  the  morn 
brought  Justice,  it  found  old  Jaimul  dead  among 
his  corn  and  left  him  there.  But  the  women 
washed  the  stains  of  blood  and  sweat  mins^led  with 
soil  and  seed  grains  from  his  hands  before  the 
wreath  of  smoke  from  his  funeral  pyre  rose  up  to 
make  a  white  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 

^  Snakes  are  said  to  be  attracted  by  the  scent  of  blood,  as 
they  are  undoubtedly  by  that  of  milk. 


HAKYEST  61 

upon  the  bitter  blue  sky — a  cloud  that  brought 
gladness  to  no  heart. 

The  usurer's  boys,  it  is  true,  forced  the  utmost 
from  the  land,  and  sent  all  save  bare  sustenance 
across  the  seas ;  but  the  home  guided  by  Jaimul's 
unswerving  hand  was  gone,  the  Taradevi's  tribe 
of  budding  soldiers  drifted  away  to  learn  the 
lawlessness  born  of  change.  Perhaps  the  yellow 
English  gold  which  came  into  the  country  in  re- 
turn for  the  red  Indian  wheat  more  than  paid  for 
these  trivial  losses.  Perhaps  it  did  not.  That  is  a 
question  which  the  next  Mutiny  must  settle. 


FOR  THE  FAITH 


An  old  man  dreaming  of  a  past  day  and  night  as 
he  sat  waiting,  and  these  were  his  dreams. 

Darkness,  save  for  the  Kght  of  the  stars  in  the 
sky  and  the  flare  of  blazing  roof-trees  on  earth. 
Two  shadowy  figures  out  in  the  open,  and 
through  the  parched  silence  of  the  May  night  a 
man's  voice  feeble,  yet  strenuous  in  appeal. 

'  Dhurm  Singh  ? ' 

'  Huzoor  ! ' 

The  kneeling  figure  bent  closer  over  the  other, 
waiting. 

'  The  mtm  sahihct,  Dhurm  Singh.' 

'  Huzoor — dhurm  ndl.'  ^ 

1  With  faith. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  63 

Then  silence,  broken  only  by  the  long  howl  of 
jackals  gathering  before  their  time  round  that 
scene  of  mutiny  and  murder. 

Darkness  once  more.  The  darkness  of  day- 
light shut  out  by  prisoning  walls.  The  sweltering 
heat  of  July  oozing  through  the  shot-cracked 
walls ;  the  horrors  of  starvation,  and  siege,  and 
sickness  round  two  dim  figures.  And  once  again 
a  strenuous  voice — this  time  a  woman's. 

'  Dhurm  Singh  ! ' 

'  Huzoor.' 

The  answer  came  as  before — broad,  soft,  gut- 
tural, in  the  accent  of  the  north — 

'  Sonny  haha,  Dhurm  Singh  ! ' 

'  Huzoor — dhurm  ndl! 

Then  silence,  broken  only  by  the  ivhist-ch-t 
of  a  wandering  bullet  against  the  wall  of  the 
crumbling  fort,  where  one  more  victim  had  found 
peace. 

Both  the  May  night  and  the  July  day  were  in 


64  FOR  THE  FAITH 

old  Dhiirm  Singh's  thoughts  as  he  sat  on  his  heels 
looking  out  from  the  Apollo  Bunder  at  Bombay 
across  the  Black  Water,  waiting,  after  long  years, 
for  Sonny  Icibcts  ship  to  loom  over  the  level 
horizon.  A  stranger  figure  among  the  sHght, 
smooth  coolies  busy  around  him  with  bales  and 
belaying  pins  than  he  would  have  been  among 
the  dockers  at  Limehouse.  Tall,  gaunt,  his  long 
white  beard  parted  over  the  chin  and  bound 
backwards  over  his  ears,  his  broad  mustache 
spreading  straight  under  his  massive  nose,  his 
level  eyebrows  like  a  white  streak  between  the 
open  brown  forehead  and  the  open  brown  eyes. 
A  faded  red  tunic,  empty  of  the  left  arm,  a  solitary 
medal  on  the  breast,  and  above  the  unseen  coils  of 
white  hair — long  as  a  woman's — the  high  wound 
turban  bearing  the  sacred  steel  quoit  of  the  Sikh 
devotee. 

Such  was  Dhurm  Singh,  Akdli ;  in  other  words. 
Lion  of  the  Faith  and  member  of  the  Church 
Militant.  Pensioner  to  boot  for  an  anna  or  so  a 
day  to  a  Government  which  he  had  also  served 


FOR  THE  FAITH  65 

dhurm  ndl   as  he  had  served  his  dead  captain, 

his  dead  mistress,  and,  last  of  all.  Sonny  haha  ! 

Twenty  years  ago.     Yes !   twenty  years  since 

he  had  answered  those  strenuous  appeals  by  his 

favourite  word-play  on  his  own  name.     He  had 

used  it  for  many  another  promise  during  those 

long  years;    as  a  rule,  truthfully.     For  Dhurm 

Singh,  as  a  rule,  did  things  dhurm  ndl, — partly 

because  a   slow,   invincible   tenacity   of  purpose 

made    all    chopping    and    changing    distasteful, 

partly  because  fidelity  to  the  master  is  sucked  in 

with  the  mother's  milk  of  the   Sikh  race :    very 

little,  it  is   to  be  feared,  from  conscious  virtue. 

Twenty   years  ago   he   had   carried   Sonny  haha 

through  the  jungles  by  night  on  his  unhurt  arm, 

and  hidden  as  best  he  could  in  the  tiger-grass  by 

day,  because  of  his  promise.     And  now,  as  he  sat 

waiting  for  Sonny  haha  to  come  sailing  over  the 

edge  of  his  world  again,  the  broad  simple  face 

expanded  into  smiles  at  the  memory.     He  passed 

by  all  the  stress  and  strains  of  that  unforgotten 

flight  in  favour  of  a  little  yellow  head  nestling 
VOL.  I  F 


66  FOR  THE  FAITH 

back  in  alarm  against  the  bloodstains  on  the  old 
tunic,  when  the  white  meins  in  the  big  cantonment 
of  refuge  had  held  out  their  arms  to  the  child. 

Sonny  haha  had  known  his  friends  in  those 
days ;  ay !  and  he  had  remembered  them  all 
these  years :  he  and  the  me7n/s  sister,  who  had 
taken  charge  of  the  boy  in  the  foreign  land  across 
the  Black  Waters  whence  the  masters  came — a 
gracious  Miss  who  wrote  regularly  once  a  year 
to  ex-duffadar  Dhurm  Singh,  giving  him  the  last 
news  of  Sonny  haha,  and  as  regularly  urging  her 
correspondent  to  safeguard  himself  against  certam 
damnation  by  becoming  an  infidel.  For  this, 
briefly,  crudely,  was  the  recipient's  view  of  the 
matter  as  he  sat  staring  at  the  little  picture 
texts  and  tracts  in  the  Punjabi  character  which 
invariably  accompanied  the  letters.  They  puzzled 
him,  those  picture  cards  in  the  sacred  characters 
which  were  printed  so  beautifully  in  the  far-off  land 
by  people  who  knew  nothing  of  him  or  his  people, 
and   who   yet  wrote  better   than   any   moJiitnt} 

1  Priest. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  67 

Puzzled  him  in  more  ways  than  one,  since  duty 
and  desire  divided  as  to  the  method  of  their 
disposal.  Eespect  for  the  captdn-sahih,  whom  he 
had  left  lying  dead  at  the  back  of  the  native  lines 
on  that  May  night,  forbade  his  destroying  them ; 
respect  for  his  own  rehgious  profession  forbade 
his  disseminating  the  pictures,  irrespective  of 
the  letterpress,  as  playthings  among  the  village 
children.  So  he  tied  them  up  in  a  bundle  with 
his  pension  papers,  and  kept  them  in  the  breast 
pocket  of  the  old  tunic  under  the  bloodstains  and 
the  solitary  medal  which  was  beginning  to  fray 
through  its  particoloured  ribbon, — an  odd  item 
in  that  costume  of  a  Sikh  devotee  which  he  had 
assumed  when  the  final  loss  of  his  arm  forced 
him  mto  peace  and  a  pension.  As  a  rule,  how- 
ever, the  tunic  was  hidden  under  the  orthodox 
blue  and  white  garments  matching  the  turban,  just 
as  the  huge  steel  bracelets  on  his  arms  matched 
the  steel  quoit  on  his  head ;  but  on  this  day 
loyalty  to  the  dead  had  spoken  in  favour  of  the 
old  uniform.     It  may  seem  a  strange  choice,  this 


68  FOR  THE  FAITH 

of  devoteeship,  but  to  the  old  swash  -  buckler  it 
was  infinitely  more  amusing,  even  in  these  de- 
generate days  when  Akdli-clom  had  lost  half  its 
power,  to  go  swaggering  about  from  fair  to  festival, 
from  festival  to  fair,  representing  the  Church 
Militant,  than  to  lounge  about  the  village  watching 
the  agricultural  members  of  the  family  cultivate 
the  ancestral  lands.  They  did  it  admirably 
without  his  help,  as  they  had  done  it  always ; 
so  Dhurm  Singh,  at  a  loose  end  now  legitimate 
strife  was  over,  took  to  cultivating  his  hair  with 
baths  of  buttermilk  instead,  adopted  the  quoit 
and  the  bracelets,  and  used  the  most  pious  of 
Sikh  oaths  as  he  watched  the  wrestlers  wrestle, 
or  played  singlestick  for  the  honour  of  God 
and  the  old  regiment.  And  there  were  other 
advantages  in  the  profession.  A  man  might 
take  a  more  than  reasonable  amount  of  opium 
occasionally  without  laying  hunself  open  to  a 
heavier  accusation  than  that  of  religious  en- 
thusiasm ;  since  opium  is  part  of  the  A  kalis  stock 
in  trade. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  69 

As  he  sat  among  the  tarred  ropes  with  his 
back  against  a  consignment  of  beer  and  rum  for 
the  British  soldier,  he  broke  off  quite  a  large 
corner  of  the  big  black  lump  he  kept  in  the  same 
pocket  \Yith  the  tracts,  and  swallowed  it  whole. 
Sonny  hahas  ship  was  not  due,  they  told  him, 
for  some  hours  to  come,  so  there  would  be  time 
for  quiet  dreams  both  of  past  and  future.  The 
latter  somewhat  confused,  since  the  Miss-sa7u6's 
letters  had  not  always  been  adequately  trans- 
lated by  the  village  schoolmaster.  Only  this 
was  sure:  Sonny  haba  was  three -and -twenty, 
and  he  was  coming  out  to  Hindustan  once  more 
as  an  ofi&cer  in  the  great  army.  In  fact,  he  was 
a  captdn  already,  which  was  big  promotion  for 
his  few  years.  So  Dhurm  Singh — who  to  say 
sooth,  was  becoming  somewhat  tired  of  the  Church 
^Militant  now  that  younger  men  began  to  beat 
him  at  singlestick — had  returned  to  the  old 
allegiance  and  made  his  way  down  country, 
like  many  another  old  servant,  to  meet  his 
master's  son  and  take  service  with  him.     You  see 


70  FOE  THE  FAITH 

them  often,  these  old,  anxious-looking  retainers, 
waiting  on  the  Apollo  Bunder,  or  coming  aboard 
in  the  steam  launches  with  wistful,  expectant 
faces. 

And  some  beardless  youth,  fresh  from  Eton  or 
Harrow,  says  with  a  laugh,  '  By  George !  are  you 
old  Munnoo  or  Bunnoo  ?  Here !  look  after  my 
traps,  will  you  ? '  And  the  traps  are  duly  looked 
after,  while  the  Philosophical  Kadical  on  the 
rampage  is  taking  the  opportunity  afforded  by 
baggage  parade  to  record  in  his  valuable  diary 
the  pained  surprise  at  the  want  of  touch  between 
the  rulers  and  the  ruled,  which  is,  alas !  his  first 
impression  of  India.  In  all  probability  it  will  be 
his  last  also,  since  it  is  conceivable  that  both 
rulers  and  ruled  may  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  him 
on  the  approach  of  the  hot  weather.  Mosquitoes 
are  troublesome,  and  cholera  is  disconcerting,  but 
they  are  bearable  beside  the  man  who  invariably 
knows  the  answers  to  his  own  questions  before 
he  asks  them. 

Dhurm  Singh's  dreams,  however,  if  confused, 


FOR  THE  FAITH  7l 

were  pleasant;  full  of  strong  meats  and  drinks, 
and  men  in  buckram.  He  could  not,  of  course, 
serve  the  Sirkar  again  with  the  chance  of  hatta 
and  loot,  but  he  could  serve  the  cliota  sahih  and 
wear  a  badge.  After  all,  a  badge-wearer  had  his 
opportunities  of  hectoring.  And  then,  how  he 
could  talk  round  the  camp  fires !  What  tales 
he  could  tell! — bearing  in  mind,  of  course,  the 
advancement  of  God  and  the  Gurus.  He  fell 
asleep  finally  in  the  sunshine,  blissfully  content. 
The  tide  ebbed  in  the  backwaters,  the  guardship 
lay  white  and  trim  in  the  open,  the  tram  horses 
clattered  up  and  down,  the  Eoyal  Yacht  Club 
pennant  flew  out  against  the  blue  sky,  a  match 
was  being  played  on  the  links  hard  by,  and  the 
very  coolies,  as  they  hauled  and  heaved,  used  a 
polyglot  of  sailors'  slang.  Only  the  palm-trees 
on  the  point  over  the  bay  gave  an  Oriental  touch 
to  the  scene. 

'  Dhurm    Singh !    my   dear,  dear    old    friend ! 
Look,  comrades,  this  is  the  man  who  carried  me 


72  FOR  THE  FAITH 

to  safety  in  his  arms  even  as  the  Good  Shepherd 
carries  His  lambs.' 

The  speech  had  that  unreal  sound  which  is  the 
curse  of  the  premeditated,  except  in  the  mouth 
of  a  born  actor,  which  Sonny  haba  was  not.  And 
yet  the  young  curves  of  the  lips  quivered.  Per- 
haps the  commonplace  exclamation  of  the  British 
boy  mentioned  before  would  have  come  more 
naturally  to  them,  but  Staff-captain  Sonny  haba 
of  the  Salvation  Army  was  on  parade,  and  bound 
to  keep  up  his  character.  Nevertheless  there 
was  no  lack  of  warmth  in  the  grip  he  got  of  the 
old  man's  reluctant  hand. 

'  Huzoor  ! '  faltered  Dhurm  Singh,  taken  aback 
at  this  condescension,  and  letting  the  sword  he 
was  about  to  present  fall  back  on  its  belt  with  a 
clatter.  The  fact  being  that  the  said  sword  had 
been  an  occasion  of  much  mental  distress ;  as 
an  actual  Q^-chiffaclar  it  was  irregular,  but  as  a 
possible  bodyguard  it  was  strictly  de  rigueur. 
Perhaps,  however,  times  had  changed  in  this  as 
in  other  ways  during  those  twenty  years.     The 


FOR  TFE  FAITH  73 

very  uniform  worn  by  the  score  or  so  of  men 
drawn  up  on  the  deck  was  strange ;  and  what 
did  that  squad  of  mem  sahibs  mean  ?  Their  dress 
did  not  seem  so  strange  to  the  old  AMU,  since 
in  those  pahny  days  before  the  Mutiny  the 
fashions  were  not  so  far  removed  from  the 
costume  of  a  Salvation  lass  :  but  the  tambourines  ! 

'  Come  and  speak  to  the  General/  said  Sonny 
haba  somewhat  hurriedly.  He  spoke  in  English ; 
but  just  as  the  formula,  '  Look  after  my  traps '  is 
'  understanded  of  the  common  people '  at  once,  so 
the  word  '  General '  brought  a  relieved  compre- 
hension to  the  old  Sikh's  face.  There  were  blessed 
frogs  on  this  one's  coat  also,  which,  like  the  word 
Mesopotamia,  were  charged  with  consolation. 

The  General  looked  at  him  with  that  curious 
philanthropic  smile  which,  while  it  welcomes  the 
object,  has  a  kind  of  circumambient  beam  of 
mutual  congratulation  for  all  spectators  of  the 
benevolence. 

'  You  have  seen  service,  my  good  old  friend,' 
he  exclaimed  in  fluent  Urdu,  as  he  pointed  with  a 


74  FOR  THE  FAITH 

declamatory  wave  of  his  hand  to  the  sohtaiy 
medal,  '  but  it  was  poor  service  to  what  we  offer 
you  now.  Come  to  us,  be  our  first-fruit,  and 
help  to  carry  the  colours  of  the  Great  Army  in 
the  van  of  the  fight.' 

A  speech  meant  palpably  for  the  gallery. 

Dhurm  Singh,  however,  took  it  at  attention 
and  saluted — 

''Pension -wallah,  Hnzoo7\  unfit  for  duty,'  he 
replied  with  modest  brevity,  indicating  his  empty 
sleeve. 

The  G-eneral  caught  at  the  occasion  for  even 
greater  unction  with  a  complacency  which  could 
not  be  concealed. 

'  The  Great  Army  is  recruited  from  those  who 
are  unfit  for  duty,  from  those  who  are  sinners. 
Is  it  not  so,  comrades  ?  Are  we  not  all  maimed, 
halt,  blind,  yet  entering  into  life  ? ' 

'  Hallelujah  !  Hallelujah  ! '  cried  the  company, 
bursting  into  the  refrain  of  a  hymn,  in  which 
Sonny  haha  joined  with  an  angelic  voice.  The 
voice,   in   fact,   was   largely   responsible   for   the 


FOR  THE  FAITH  75 

position  in  which  he  found  himself.  The  old 
swash-buckler's  eyes  grew  moist  as  he  looked 
at  him,  thinking  that  he  was  the  very  image, 
for  sure,  of  his  dead  father,  who  had  been  the 
pride  of  the  regiment.  Nevertheless  the  effer- 
vescence of  song  left  the  old  man  still  deprecating 
and  fumbling  in  his  tunic. 

'The  General -sahib  mistakes;  these  are  my 
pinson  papers.' 

That  proved  a  climax.  When,  just  as  you 
are  setting  foot  on  a  country  which  you  have 
sworn  to  conquer,  an  old  warrior  comes  aboard 
and  produces  a  bundle  of  Scripture  texts  and  Sal- 
vation h}Tnns  out  of  his  innermost  breast  pocket, 
naturally  nothing  is  left  but  to  enthuse  ?  What 
followed  Dhurm  Singh  only  dimly  understood, 
but  he  stuck  manfully  to  his  intention  of  follow- 
ing Sonny  baha  to  the  death  if  needs  be.  The 
result  being  that  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
he  took  part  in  a  procession  round  the  town  of 
Bombay — mortal  man  of  his  mould  being  mani- 
festly unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of  marching 


76  FOE  THE  FAITH 

in  step  behind  a  big  drum,  with  the  colours  of  a 
whole  army  on  his  shoulders;  especially  when 
unlimited  opportunity  for  scowling  defiance  at 
hostile  crowds  is  thrown  into  the  bargain.  By 
eight  o'clock,  however,  matters  had  assumed  a 
different  complexion ;  so  had  Dhurm  Singh,  as  he 
sat  in  the  lock-up,  vastly  contented  with  his  black 
eye  and  an  ugly  cut  on  the  nose,  which  he 
explained  gleefully  to  Sonny  hctba,  put  him  in 
mind  of  old  times.  The  latter,  through  the 
medium  of  a  fellow-passenger  who  knew  Punjabi, 
was  meanwhile  trying  to  make  the  old  sinner 
understand  that  he  had  got  the  whole  army 
into  trouble,  and  that  personally  he  must  stand 
his  trial  for  a  breach  of  the  peace. 

'And  tell  him,  please,'  said  Sonny  laba  with 
grieved  diffidence,  '  that  we  all  think  he  must 
have  been  drunk.' 

An  odd  smile  struggled  with  the  gravity  of 
Dr.  Taylor's  interpretation  of  the  reply. 

'  He  says,  of  course  he  was  drunk,  as  you  all 
were.     In  fact,  he  bought  a  bottle  of  rum  instead 


FOR  THE  FAITH  77 

of  taking  his  opium,  so  that  the  effects  might  be 
uniform — I'm  telling  you  the  sober  truth,  my 
dear  boy.  You  see  you  don't  know  the  people 
or  the  country,  or  anything  about  them.  I  do. 
Besides,  the  Tommies — the  regular  soldiers  I  mean 
— always  make  a  point  of  getting  drunk  if  they 
can  when  they  go  down  or  come  up  to  the  sea  in 
ships.  Perhaps  it's  the  connection  between  reeling 
to  and  fro,  you  know.  I  beg  your  pardon;  no 
offence — but  really,  what  with  the  tambourines — ' 

Dr.  Taylor  paused  with  his  bright  eyes  on  the 
boy's  face.  They  had  been  cabin  companions, 
and  despite  an  absolute  antagonism  of  thought, 
chums.  It  is  so  sometimes,  and  as  a  rule  such 
friendships  last. 

'Did  you  tell  him  the  General  was  greatly 
displeased?  It  is  such  a  terrible  beginning  to 
our  campaign;  so  unscriptural,'  mourned  Sonny 
tdba  evasively. 

'  I  don't  know  about  that ;  wasn't  there  some 
one  who  smote  off  some  one  else's  ear  ?  and  that,  I 
believe,  is  what  the  old  man  is  accused  of  doing. 


78  FOR  THE  FAITH 

I  beg  your  pardon  again,  but  the  coincidence 
is  remarkable.' 

'  And  what  is  he  saying  now  ? '  put  in  the 
other  hurriedly. 

Dr.  Taylor  paused. 

'  He  is  calling  down  the  blessing  of  the  one 
true  God  upon  your  head,  now  and  for  all 
eternity/  he  answered  slowly,  and  there  was  a  sort 
of  hush  in  his  voice. 

Sonny  hctba's  eyes  grew  suspiciously  moist,  but 
he  shook  his  head  dutifully.  '  How — how  sad/  he 
began. 

'  Very  sad  that  you  can't  understand  what  he 
says/  interrupted  Dr.  Taylor  curtly,  '  because  as 
I've  only  just  time  to  catch  my  train  I  must  be 
off.     Salaam,  Ahdli  sahih  I ' 

Dhurm  Singh,  standing  to  salute,  detained  the 
doctor  for  a  minute  with  eager  questioning. 

'  What  is  it  ? '  asked  Sonny  haba  again.  '  What 
is  it  he  wants  to  know  ? ' 

Dr.  Taylor  gave  a  short  laugh.  '  He  wants  to 
know  who  the  General's  papa  and  mamma  were. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  '  79 

because  he  isn't  a  gentleman.  You  needn't  stare 
so,  my  dear  fellow.  That  is  the  first  thing  they 
find  out  about  an  Englishman,  and  it  needs  a  lot 
of  grit  and  go  in  a  man  to  get  over  the  initial 
drawback.  "Well,  good-bye,  and  if  you  will  take 
my  advice,  come  up  north,  see  the  people,  learn 
their  language,  and  appreciate  their  lives  before 
you  try  to  change  them.  And  look  here !  don't 
go  taking  an  AMU  about  in  a  religious  procession 
with  drums  and  banners.  It  isn't  safe,  especially 
if  you  are  going  to  Bengal.' 

'  Why  Bengal  more  than  other  places  ? ' 
'  Accustomed  to  Uck  them,  that's  all — hereditary 
instinct.  Well,  good-bye  again,  and  take  my  ad- 
vice and  come  north.  The  old  swash- buckler 
might  be  of  some  use  to  you  there.  He'll  be  in 
the  way  down  country.' 


II 

Some  eighteen  months  afterwards,  the  doctor, 
being  busy  over  that  great  hunt  for  the  comma- 


80  •  FOR  THE  FAITH 

shaped  bacillus,  which,  as  is  told  elsewhere,  ended 
in  a  full  stop  for  the  seeker,  saw  a  man  come  into 
his  verandah  with  a  note 

'  The  old  swash-buckler,  by  all  that's  sinful,'  he 
said  to  himself.  '  Now,  what  can  he  want  ? '  Ac- 
cording to  the  superscription  of  the  letter,  it  was  a 
'  Civil  Surgeon ' ;  according  to  a  few  almost  illegible 
words  inside,  help  for  a  suspected  case  of  cholera 
in  the  European  room  of  the  serai. 

Dr.  Taylor,  with  grave  doubts  as  to  being  able 
to  supply  either  of  these  desires,  went  into  the 
verandah. 

'  Is  it  Sonny  haha  ? '  he  asked. 

Dhurm  Singh's  delight  was  boundless ;  since  a 
saJiib  to  whom  you  have  once  spoken  is  not  as 
other  sahibs ;  just  as  a  sahib  whom  you  have  once 
served  becomes  a  demigod — transfigured,  immor- 
tal. Undoubtedly  it  was  the  Baba-sahib^ — for  unto 
this  semi-religious  title  the  old  man  had  com- 
pounded his  memories  and  his  respect ;  who  else 
was  it  likely  to  be,  seeing  that  he,  Dhurm  Singh, 

^  Lit.  Father.     Baba  is  constantly  used  to  a  religious  teacher. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  81 

had  taken  service  with  the  master's  son  ?  Un- 
doubtedly also  he  was  ill,  though,  in  the  poor 
opinion  of  the  dust-like  one,  it  was  not  cholera — 
at  least  it  need  not  have  been  if  the  Bctba-sahih 
had  only  taken  the  remedy  proposed  to  him. 

'  Opium  ?  hey  ! '  asked  Taylor,  who  in  a  huge 
pith  hat  which  made  him  look  like  an  animated 
mushroom,  was  by  this  time  walking  over  to  the 
serai,  which  was  but  a  few  hundred  yards  off. 

The  old  AMU  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  the 
massive  curves  of  his  lips  stretching  like  india- 
rubber.  '  The  HuzooT  knows  the  great  gift  of 
God  in  the  bad  places  of  mind  and  body.  But 
the  Baba-saliih  will  not  have  it  so.  He  under- 
stands not  many  things  through  being  so  young. 
But  he  learns,  he  learns  ! ' 

There   was  a  cheerful  content  in  the  apology, 

suggestive  of  the  possibility  that  Dhurm  Singh 

had  something  to  do  with  the  teaching.     If  so,  he 

had  been  an  unsafe  guide  in  one  point ;  for  it  was 

cholera;  cholera  of  the  type  which  merges  into 

a  dreary  convalescence  of  malarial  fever,  during 
VOL.  I  G 


82  FOR  THE  FAITH 

which  Doctor  Taylor  saw  a  good  deal,  necessarily 
and  unnecessarily,  of  his  old  cabin  companion ; 
thus  renewing  a  friendship  which,  like  the 
majority  of  those  struck  up  on  board  ship,  would 
have  been  forgotten  but  for  an  accident — the 
accident  of  his  doing  civil  duty  for  a  colleague 
during  ten  days'  leave. 

'  Civil  Surgeon,  indeed ! '  he  would  say,  as  he 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  amusing  Sonny  haha 
when  the  latter  began  to  pull  round.  '  Deuce  take 
me  if  I  could  be  that  to  save  my  life  !  One  of  my 
patients  the  other  day  said  I  was  the  most  un- 
civil person  calling  himself  a  gentleman  she  ever 
came  across,  just  because  I  told  her  she  couldn't 
expect  her  liver  to  act  if  she  lived  the  life  of  a 
Strasburg  goose.  "  Liver  !  "  she  cried,  "  why, 
doctor,  it's  all  heart  that  is  the  matter  with  me." 
Now,  my  dear  boy,  can  you  tell  me  why  that 
unfortunate  viscus,  the  liver,  has  got  into  such 
disrepute  ?  You  may  tell  a  patient  every  other 
organ  in  the  body  is  in  a  disgraceful  state  of  dis- 
repair, but  if  you  hint  at  bile  it's  no  use  trying  to 


FOE  THE  FAITH  83 

be  a  popular  physician.  Stick  to  the  heart  1 
that's  my  acMce  to  a  youngster  entering  the  hsts. 
Both  for  the  healer  and  the  healed  it  is  ennobhng. 
Xow  you,  for  instance  1  you  will  put  it  all  down 
to  your  ardent  affection  for  your  fellow-man ;  but 
what  the  deyil  haye  you  done  with  your  muscle, 
my  dear  fellow  ?  Oh,  I  know  !  you  have  been  doing 
the  ddl-ohdt^  trick,  in  order  to  show  your  sympathy 
with  the  people,  and  to  assimilate  your  wants  to 
theii^s,  so  that  in  some  occult  way  they  are  to 
assimilate  their  religious  behefs  to  yours.  Lordy, 
Lordy,  what  an  odd  creature  man  is  1  But  you 
didn't  get  old  Dhurm  Singh  to  give  up  his  kid 
pv.llao,  I'll  go  bail.  Xow,  he  looks  fit — more  like 
your  Church  Militant  business  than  you  do. 

'I'ye — I'ye  giyen  tip  the  Army,'  said  Sonny 
haha,  after  an  embarrassed  pause. 

And  Dr.  Taylor  actually  refrained  from  asking 
why,  or  from  saying  he  was  glad  to  hear  it ;  for 
there  was  a  puzzled,  pained  look  in  his  patient's 
face,  which,  like  any  other  unfayourable  symptom 

^  Lit.  rice  and  lentil.     A  catchword  for  native  food. 


84  FOR  THE  FAITH 

had  to  be  attended  to  at  once.  In  the  verandah, 
however,  he  commented  on  the  news  to  Dhurm 
Singh,  who  with  his  turban  off  and  his  long  white 
hair  coiled  round  the  high  wooden  comb  like  any 
woman's,  was  putting  an  extra  fine  polish  to  his 
sword  to  while  away  the  time. 

'  Huzoor !  it  is  true.  It  did  not  suit  us.  I 
told  the  Baba-sahib  so  from  the  beginning.  They 
were  not  of  his  caste.  As  the  Protector  may  see, 
I  did  all  in  my  power.  I  set  aside  the  steel 
bracelets  and  the  quoits.  I  refrained  myself  to 
humility  and  carried  a  tambourine,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. It  did  not  suit.  So  now,  praise  be  to  the 
Lord,  we  have  taken  "jnnson  "  again,  and  the  Baha 
is  to  serve  the  Big  Ldt-padre  (bishop)  according 
to  huJcm  (orders),  as  all  the  padre  sahibs  do.' 

As  he  drove  home,  the  doctor  decided  that  he 
would  gladly  give  a  month's  pay  to  know  the 
history  of  the  past  year  and  a  half.  The  very 
imagination  of  it  made  him  smile.  Yet  there  must 
have  been  more  than  mere  laughter  in  his  thoughts, 
for  even  when  the  lad  grew  strong  enough  to  re- 


FOR  THE  FAITH  85 

sume  the  arguments  which  had  begun  in  the  cabin, 
the  doctor  never  tried  to  force  his  confidence.  And 
Sonny  labct  was  reserved  on  some  points.  But  the 
enthusiasm,  and  the  fervour,  and  the  faith  were 
strong  in  him  as  ever,  though  the  angelic  voice 
now  busied  itself  with  Hymns  Ancient  and 
Modern ;  especially  the  Ancient.  For,  face  to  face 
with  the  Eig-Yedas,the  advantages  of  unquestioned 
authority  had  begun  to  show  themselves. 

There  is  no  need  to  repeat  the  arguments  on 
either  side ;  they  are  easily  imagined,  given  the 
characters  of  the  arguers.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to 
imagine  the  grip  of  hands  when  they  parted. 
One  of  them,  no  doubt,  said  somethmg  about  the 
other  not  being  far  from  a  certain  kingdom,  and 
the  saying  was  not  resented,  though,  no  doubt, 
the  hearer  laughed  softly  over  the  comma-shaped 
hacillus  as  he  watched  Sonny  haha  and  the  old 
swash-buckler  set  off  together  to  the  wilderness 
again.  The  former  to  itinerate  from  village  to 
village,  learning  the  language  and  lives  of  the 
people    he    hoped  by  and   by   to   convert;    the 


86  FOR  THE  FAITH 

latter,  presumably,  to  complete  the  education  he 
had  begun.     They  were  an  odd  couple. 

'  Ten  to  one  on  the  swash-buckler,'  thought  the 
doctor ;  '  he  is  a  fine  old  chap.' 

Christmas  had  come  and  gone  ere  Sonny  hdba 
reappeared  in  civilised  society.  When  he  did  so 
he  looked  weather-beaten  and  yet  spruce — the 
natural  result  on  a  healthy  young  Englishman  of 
combined  exposure  to  sunshine  and  a  good 
washerman. 

'  Hullo ! '  cried  the  doctor  cheerily,  '  back 
again  in  boiled  shirts,  I  see !  Find  'em  a  bit 
stiff,  I  expect,  after  kurtas  and  dliotees.  The 
natives  know  how  to  dress  comfortably  at  any 
rate.' 

Sonny  haha  blushed  under  his  bronze  and 
hesitated.  'The  fact  is,'  he  said  with  an  effort, 
'  I  did  not,  after  all,  adopt  native  costume  as  I 
intended,  or  perhaps,' — here  a  faint  smile  obtruded 
itself — '  I  might  say  it  wouldn't  adopt  me.  You 
see,  to  enter  into  details,  I  couldn't  exactly  give 
up — a — a  night  shirt,  or  that  sort  of  thing,  you 


FOR  THE  FAITH  87 

know — now  could  I?  And  what  with  being  a 
very  sound  sleeper,  and  sleeping  in  public  places 
— serais  and  dhurmsdlas, — or  out  in  the  open — 
somehow  my  day  clothes  were  always  being  stolen. 
As  soon  as  ever  I  got  a  new  outfit  it  disappeared, 
until  at  last  Dhurm  Singh  said — ' 
'  Yes  !  what  did  Dhurm  Singh  say  ? ' 
'That  it  was  very  peculiar,  and  that  as  the 
thieves  didn't  seem  to  fancy  my  English  clothes 
it  might  be — more  economical — -'  Here  a  half- 
embarrassed  laugh  finally  interrupted  the  sen- 
tence. '  I  don't  think  I  was  sorry,'  went  on  the 
speaker  hastily ;  '  I  found  out  afterwards  that  the 
people  don't  understand  it.  One  old  fellow  asked 
me  why  it  was  that  though  a  native  convert 
always  had  to  wear  trousers  lilvc  the  saJiib-logue, 
the  "  missen "  people  preferred  to  preach  without 
them?  Of  course  it  was  an  exaggeration  both 
ways,  but  the  more  I  see  of  these  people,  the  more 
necessary  it  seems  to  me  that  we  should  be  our- 
selves armed  at  all  points  before  beginning  the 
attack.     And  then  their  poverty,  their  patience, 


88  FOR  THE  FAITH 

the  insanitary  conditions — the  needless  suffering ! 
Surely  before  we  can  touch  their  minds — ' 

'  I  know/  broke  in  the  doctor  cynically.  '  Medi- 
cal missions,  et  -  cetera ;  so  it  has  come  to  that 
already,  has  it,  old  chap  ? ' 

'I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  its  having 
come  to  that,'  retorted  Sonny  at  a  white  heat ; 
'but  if  you  think  it  right  to  live  in  the  lap 
of  luxury  while  these  brothers  and  sisters  of 
ours — ' 

So  the  arguments  began  again,  more  fiercely 
than  ever,  for  the  two  fought  at  closer  quarters, — 
so  close  that  ofttimes  the  doctor  had  to  retreat 
from  his  own  position  and  seek  another,  because 
Sonny  haba  had  already  entrenched  himself 
therein;  the  which  is  a  direful  offence,  rousmg 
determined  resistance  in  a  real  argufier. 

Despite  this,  Sonny  haha  rented  a  room  in  the 
doctor's  house,  and  shared  the  doctor's  dinners  and 
library  and  hospital  after  the  easy  Indian  fashion, 
while  Dhurm  Singh  swaggered  about  among  the 
dispensary  badge-wearers,  explaining  at  full  length 


FOR  THE  FAITH  89 

why  he  did  not  wear  a  badge  like  the  rest  of 
them.  His  sahib  had  not  yet  settled  which 
branch  of  the  public  service  he  would  exalt  by 
his  presence.  He  was  young,  doubtless,  as  yet, 
but  he  made  strides.  Two  years  ago  he  had 
found  him  in  a  very  poor  '  naukeri '  (service),  in 
which  he  paid  all  the  rupees  and  no  one  gave  him 
anything;  a  topsy-turvy  arrangement:  not  that 
his  sahib  needed  the  paisas.  He  was  rich  as  a 
nawab.  Then  he  thought  of  being  a  p)C('dre  sahib  ; 
now  it  was  clodore  department,  but  in  his,  Dhurm 
Singh's  opinion,  that  was  not  much  either.  Per- 
sonally he  would  just  as  soon  wear  no  badge,  as 
one  of  those  with  '  Charitable  Dispensary '  on  it. 
But  only  God  knew  where  the  Baba-sahib  might 
end ;  at  Sunla,  as  '  burra  Lett  sahib!  no  doubt. 
Till  then  it  was  more  dignified  to  refrain  from 
ignoble  badges  of  which  afterwards  one  might  be 
ashamed. 

And  while  he  talked  in  this  fashion  he  sat  in 
the  sunshine  combing  his  long  hair,  and  piously 
wondering  how  folk  could  defile  their  insides  with 


90  FOR  THE  FAITH 

tobacco.  Then  he  would  stroll  off  into  the 
shadow  and  bring  out  the  black  lump  of  dreams. 
Yet  if  Sonny  hctbct  came  out  into  the  verandah 
calling  after  the  Indian  fashion  for  some  one,  the 
broad  northern  accent  was  always  ready  with  its 
'  Hiizoor  ! ' 

So  the  months  passed  in  preparations,  and  the 
angelic  voice  might  have  been  heard  to  sing '  Lead, 
kindly  Light '  more  often  than  any  other  hymn  in 
the  book.  About  this  time,  also.  Sonny  hciba, 
speaking  of  Dhurm  Singh  and  his  ways,  used  to 
quote  in  rather  a  patronising  manner  a  certain 
text  regarding  those  who  might  expect  to  be 
beaten  with  few  stripes, — a  speech  which  roused 
the  doctor  to  vigorous  retort.  He  had  observed, 
he  said,  that  the  remark  held  good  about  most 
honest,  healthy  men  who  could  play  singlestick. 

The  fact  being,  however,  that  Sonny  hdba  was 
beginning  to  get  obstinate,  as  is  only  natural 
when  a  man  passes  five -and -twenty.  It  was 
time,  he  felt,  to  begin  work  in  earnest ;  for  the 
enthusiasm  and  the  faith  and  the  fervour  were  as 


FOR  THE  FAITH  91 

hot  as  ever  in  him  still.  Looking  back  on  the 
last  three  years,  he  hardly  understood  why  he  had 
done  so  little. 

'  There  seems  so  much  to  learn  before  one  can 
even  begin  on  the  problem;'  he  sighed,  '  and  then, 
dear  as  the  old  man  is,  I  really  think  Dhurm 
Singh  is  a  drawback.  I  hoped  when  we  left  the 
Army — but  indeed,  Taylor,  I  think  even  you  will 
allow  that  he  is  hardly  the  sort  of  man  for  a 
missionary's  servant.' 

'  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  classify  him 
under  that  head :  but  then,'  he  paused,  thinking, 
perhaps,  that  when  all  was  said  and  done  the 
master  was  no  more  fit  for  the  place  than  the 
servant. 

'  I'm  glad  you  agree  with  me,'  put  in  Sonny 
eagerly,  '  for  I've  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  a 
change.  You  have  no  idea  how  the  old  fellow 
hectors  over  getting  me  a  pint  of  milk  or  a  couple 
of  eggs.  You  would  think  I  was  about  to  loot  a 
whole  village.  I  must  own  that  I  invariably  get 
what  I  want — that,  too,  without  the  least  unplea- 


92  FOR  THE  FAITH 

santness,  but  it  is  not  edifying.  Not  the  sort  of 
thing  that  ought  to  go  on.  Then  his  habit  of 
eating  opium.  It  does  not  seem  to  hurt  him,  I 
own  ;  but  that  again  is  not  what  it  ought  to  be. 
It  is  bad  enough  to  belong  to  a  race  who,  while 
they  go  about  with  words  of  condemnation  on 
their  lips — ' 

'  Pardon  me,'  murmured  the  doctor,  '  I  pass — ' 

'  — on  their  lips,  are  at  the  same  time 
battening  on  the  proceeds  of  an  infamous  mono- 
poly of  a  drug  dealing  death  and  disease  to  a 
whole  continent.' 

'  One-third  of  one  per  cent  of  the  total  popu- 
lation,' murmured  the  doctor  again. 

'  You  forget  the  opium  grown  in  China,'  put  in 
Sonny  with  great  heat. 

*  My  dear  fellow,  isn't  there  a  story  somewhere 
about  the  Emperor  of  China's  clothes  ?  If  I 
remember  right  he  forgot  to  put  'em  on,  and  then 
every  one  was  afraid  to  tell  him  he  was  naked. 
It  appears  to  me  that  in  this  opium  business  the 
good  gentleman  hasn't  a  rag  of  reason  for  com- 


FOR  THE  FAITH  93 

plaint,  but  that  you  are  all  afraid  to  say  so.  If 
we  can  prevent  our  subjects  from  growing  poppy 
except  under  supervision,  why  can't  he  ?  It  isn't 
Jonah's  gourd,  but  a  three  month  crop.' 

Sonny  haba  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room  excitedly.  '  It  is  perfectly  inexplicable  to 
me  how  a  man  like  you — ' 

'  Excuse  me,'  interrupted  the  doctor.  '  I'll 
explain.  I'm  forty-four  years  of  age.  Two-and- 
twenty  years  of  that  I  hved  in  a  parish  in  Scotland 
where  every  decent,  respectable  body  would  have 
thought  shame  to  himself  if  he  didn't  have  more 
whisky  than  he  could  carry  on  market  days.  The 
other  two-and-twenty  I've  spent  in  India.  Out 
of  cantonments,  where  they've  learnt  the  trick 
from  us,  I  only  remember  having  met  two  drunk 
men  in  all  those  years,  and  though  I  see  more  of 
the  natives  than  most  people,  I  can  only  caU  to 
mind  three  who  might  be  said  to  have  suffered 
seriously  from  the  effects  of  opium.^  But  it  is  a 
subject  which  it  is  quite  useless  to  discuss.     It 

1  A  fact. 


94  FOR  THE  FAITH 

turns  on  a  question  of  heredity,  like  most  things. 
The  Indo-Germanic  races  never  have  taken  and 
never  will  take  to  narcotics,  so  naturally  they  abuse 
them — and  drink  instead.     Chacun  a  son  gout! 

'And  mine  is  to  give  poor  old  Dhurm  Singh 
an  extra  pension  when  I  go  itinerating,  and  send 
him  back  to  end  his  days  in  peace  in  his  village.' 

The  doctor  whistled,  '  Don't  you  wish  you 
may  get  him  to  do  it  ? ' 

'  He  must  if  he  is  a  hindrance  to  the  work — ' 

'  And  if  your  work  is  a  hindrance  to  him  ? 
That's  what  it  comes  to  all  round.  He  was  put 
in  charge  of  you,  and  mark  my  words,  Dhurm 
Singh  will  do  it  dhitrm  ndl  until  he  goes  to  settle 
the  vexed  question.' 

'  What  vexed  question  ? ' 

'  Whether  his  work  or  yours  was  the  better.' 


III. 


Dhurm  Singh  ? ' 
Huzoor! 


FOE  THE  FAITH  9  5 

After  five-and-twenty  years  the  same  appeal — 
the  same  reply.  But  on  that  May  night  and  July 
day  neither  the  man  nor  the  \\  oman  had  any  doubt 
as  to  what  was  to  come  next ;  the  universe  held 
no  possibility  save  '  the  mem  sahib '  or  '  Sonny 
hcibcL  But  the  latter,  now  it  came  to  his  turn, 
hesitated ;  even  while  he  was  conscious  that  to  a 
well-balanced  mind  capable  of  weighing  advantage 
and  disadvantage  fairly,  there  ought  to  be  no 
difficulty  in  telling  any  one  that  you  had  no  further 
need  for  his  services.  The  recollection  of  certain 
thin-lipped,  dignified,  self-respecting  conversations 
overheard  at  home  sprang  to  memory  ob- 
trusively. '  Then,  Mary  Ann,  it  had  better  be 
this  day  month.'  '  Yes,  ma'am,  this  day  month, 
if  you  please  ;  and  if  you  please,  ma'am,  Wednes- 
days and  Saturdays  from  eleven  till  one,  if  con- 
venient, for  a  character.' 

But  things  were  different  somehow  in  this 
heathen  country,  which  was  so  backward  in 
education,  so  ignorant  of  liberty,  equality,  and — 
ahem ! 


96  FOR  THE  FAITH 

'  Dhurm  Singh,'  began  Sonny  once  more  rather 
hurriedly. 

'  Kihzoor! 

'  I — I  am  going  to  make  a  complete  change  of 
plan,  Dhurm  Singh.  I — I  am  going  to  begin  work 
on  a  new  principle.  I — I  am  going  to  start  in 
another  part  of  the  country  where  I  shall  not  re- 
quire— er — many  things  I  have  hitherto  required.' 
He  paused,  well  satisfied  at  his  plunge  in  medias  res. 

Dhurm  Singh,  standing  attention  at  the  door, 
smiled  approvingly.  '  It  is  a  good  word,  Huzoor. 
So  said  the  Gurus  also.     When  do  we  start  ? ' 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Sonny  hciba,  in  rather 
a  shamefaced  manner,  told  the  doctor  that,  after 
all,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  it  would  be 
better  not  to  dismiss  Dhurm  Singh.  To  begin 
with,  the  village  children  delighted  in  his  tales, 
and  then — it  was  a  triviality,  no  doubt,  perhaps 
in  a  measure  a  giving  in  to  prejudice — the  elders 
certainly  set  store  by  position ;  for  instance,  they 
were  always  more  ready  to  listen  to  him  if  the 
old   swash -buckler   had   had   an   opportunity  of 


FOR  THE  FAITH  97 

giving  the  family  history,  embellishments  and  all. 
In  addition  Dhurm  Singh  had  promised  to  amend 
his  ways  generally ;  to  spend  his  days  in  com- 
pounding pills  and  potions  instead  of  hectoring 
about.  Finally,  he  had  agreed  to  an  allowance  of 
opium,  swearing  dhurm  ndl  to  take  no  more  than 
was  served  out  by  the  master. 

'  Of  course,'  said  Sonny  haha  at  this  juncture, 
with  a  considerate  superiority  which  raised  every 
atom  of  the  doctor's  original  sin,  '  I  shall  be 
careful,  I  shall  not  dock  it  too  much  at  once ;  but 
in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two  I  hope  to  break  him 
entirely  of  this  most  pernicious  habit.' 

'  Which  has  never  done  him  or  his  surround- 
ings the  least  harm,'  growled  Taylor  savagely. 
'  Upon  my  soul,  I  begin  to  wish  I  were  five-and- 
twenty  again,  if  only  that  I  might  be  as  cock-sure 
of  being  right  about  everything  as  you  are.  As  it 
is,  even  the  hacillus — '  He  wrinkled  his  eyes  over 
the  microscope  once  more,  and  did  not  finish  his 
sentence. 

After  this  Dhurm  Singh  might  have  been  seen 

VOL.  I  H 


98  FOR  THE  FAITH 

any  day  of  the  week  in  the  dispensary  verandah 
grounding  away  vigorously  with  pestle  and  mortar 
at  unsavoury  medicaments,  rolling  pills  under  his 
flexible  brown  fingers,  or  polishing  up  surgical 
instruments  with  all  the  fervour  bestowed  of  yore 
on  the  old  sword. 

'  Lo  !  if  the  Baba-sahih  cares  not  for  being  a  big 
Hdkm  (magistrate,  ruler),  sure  the  next  best  thing 
is  to  be  a  big  Hakeem  (doctor),'  he  would  say, 
smiling  simply  at  his  own  wit.  And  doth  not  the 
Guru  say,  "  Fight  with  no  weapon  but  the  sword 
of  the  Spirit "  ?  Besides,  when  I  feel  like  fighting  I 
can  put  an  edge  to  the  knives  or  pound  harder 
with  the  pestle.  God  knows  they  may  both  do 
more  damage  than  a  sabre.  Then  the  rolling  of 
pills  is  ever  the  first  step  towards  dream-getting. 
Thus  in  all  ways,I,Dhurm  Singh,  Sikh,  ^^.-diiffadar, 
pinson-iuallah,  and  AMU,  am  consoled.  But  there  ! 
God  is  good  to  the  Sikh.  Know  you  that  He  never 
made  an  ugly  one  yet  ? ' 

This  was  a  favourite  boast  of  the  old  man's, 
backed  always,  should  doubts  be  expressed,  by 


FOR  THE  FAITH  99 

a  modest  appeal  to  his  own  looks,  joined  to  an 
assertion — which,  by  the  way,  was  perfectly  true — 
that  he  was  the  meanest-looking  of  ten  brothers. 

So,  in  due  season,  the  doctor  once  more  watched 
the  odd  couple  pass  out  together  into  the  wilder- 
ness ;  and  this  time,  noticing  the  change  in  Sonny 
haba,  and  remembering  the  raw  lad  who  had  been 
his  cabin  companion,  he,  so  to  speak,  put  his  whole 
pile  on  Dhurm  Singh — unless  the  boy  killed  him 
with  philanthropy. 

The  rains,  after  an  unusually  heavy  fall,  had 
ceased  early,  the  result  being  an  epidemic  of 
autumnal  fever.  Xow  the  cholera  may  kill  its 
thousands,  but  year  by  year,  with  every  now  and 
again  a  sort  of  jubilee  over  its  own  strength, 
malaria  kills  its  tens  of  thousands  quietly,  un- 
ostentatiously;  so  quietly,  that  it  is  only  when 
the  officer  in  charge  of  a  district  finds  himself 
during  his  cold  weather  camp  deciding  the  rival 
claims  to  hereditary  offices  day  after  day  in  village 
after  village,  that  even  he  realises  how  widely  the 
archangel  Azrael  has  spread  his  wings  over  the 


100  FOR  THE  FAITH 

people.  The  doctor,  however,  judging  simply  by 
the  weather,  sent  Sonny  into  the  jungles  well 
supplied  with  that  carmine-tinted  quinine  which 
carries  the  fact  of  its  being  Government  property 
in  its  colour :  a  useless  attempt  to  prevent  the 
sale  of  charity  in  a  land  where  the  regulation  five 
grain  powder  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  currency  as 
a  two  anna  bit.  Well  supplied,  yet  at  the  same 
time  with  cautions  not  to  be  over  generous  except 
in  genuine  cases.  Let  him  stick  to  the  country 
medicines  as  prophylactics.  Opium  and  aconite 
were  to  be  had  for  the  buying,  and  if  he  did 
wander  into  the  low  jungles  close  to  the  hills,  and 
if  he  could  be  tolerant,  and  learn  not  to  despise  old 
wisdom,  let  him  prescribe  the  former  in  preference 
to  the  latter, — though  perhaps  that  was  too  much 
to  expect  from  a  five-and-twenty-year-old  who 
was  cock-sure  he  knew  best. 

'  I  know  nothing  of  myself,'  replied  Sonny  in 
all  seriousness.  'The  Eternal  Eight  decides. 
There  lies  the  difference  between  you  and  me — 
pardon  me  if  T  say  between  the  Christian  and  the 


FOR  THE  FAITH  101 

Unbeliever.     You  trust  to  your  finite  mind,  I  to 
Something  which  is  and  was,  which  cannot  err.' 

And  Dhurm  Singh,  gleefully  employed  in  turn- 
ing a  cash  transport  mule  with  its  fixings  into  a 
perambulating  dispensary,  was  keeping  up  his 
character  of  devotee  by  repeating  verses  from  the 
Adhee  Ghmnfh  ^  in  sing-song ;  his  round,  mellow 
voice  echoing  out  through  the  sunshine — 

'Remember,  0   man,  the  primal  truth — the   Truth 

ere  the  world  began. 
The   Truth  \\'hich  is  and   the   Truth   Avhich   must 

remain. 
How  can  this  Truth  be  told  ;  save  by  doing  the  will 

of  the  Lord  1 ' 

'Listen!'  said  Taylor,  and  Sonny  haha  moved 
uneasily  in  his  chair. 

When  these  same  preparations  were  complete, 
the  old  man's  delight  was  huge,  and  he  drove  the 
mule  forth  to  the  wilderness  before  him  with 
much  futile  waving  of  the  stick  which  had  re- 
placed the  sword.  Even  over  that  abnegation  he 
was  cheerful. 

1  The  Sikh  Bible. 


102  FOR  THE  FAITH 

'  Lo  !  I  am  turned  a  dliuncli-ivallah  ^  in  mine 
old  age  as  becomes  the  pious-minded.  Ari! 
thou  misbegotten  offspring  of  a  mixed  race 
doomed  to  childless  extinction,  wilt  stray  from 
the  beaten  path !  Wouldst  steal  the  corn  of 
others,  when  thy  master  is  a  missen  sahib,  and  thy 
tender  a  devotee  ?     May  the  uttermost — ' 

Then  to  Sonny's  pained  reproof  he  would  reply, 
cheerfully  as  ever,  that  he  had  understood  the 
refraining  of  his  tongue  from  abuse  was  to  be  to- 
wards those  born  of  Adam,  and  this  was  not  even 
a  God-created  thing,  but  a  nondescript  invented  by 
the  sahih-logiie. 

Cheerful  always;  even  when,  as  time  went 
on,  his  daily  pills  of  opium  were  mixed  with 
quinine.  He  sat  and  compounded  them  him- 
self dhurm  ncU,  keeping  no  grain  of  the  beloved 
dream-giver  from  the  sacrilegious  mixture,  and 
telling  the  full  tale  of  the  'Jiat  pillulce '  into  the 
master's  locked  medicine  chest,  whence  they  were 
doled  out  daily. 

^  Lit.  stick-bearer,  but  applied  always  to  wanderiug  devotees 
who  tramp  the  country  living  on  alms. 


FOR  THE  FAITH  103 

For  the  first  month  or  more,  everything  went 
smoothly.  Xever  before  had  Sonny  hala  had 
such  attentive  listeners  to  the  great  truths  he  ex- 
pounded as  a  preliminary  to  his  other  work ; 
never  before  had  he  felt  that  he  was  really  on  the 
right  tack,  really  had  his  opportunity  of  a  fair 
hearing.  The  letters  he  wrote  home  to  his  aunt 
who,  fond  woman,  had  faithfully  followed  as 
woman  can  do,  every  step  in  the  career  of  her 
darling  with  unswerving  confidence,  filled  that 
excellent  creature  with  sheer,  unalloyed  delight. 
She  told  all  her  circle  of  friends  that  her  nephew 
had  fulfilled  her  dearest  wishes  in  going  in  for  the 
medical  mission,  which  was  undoubtedly  the  only 
way  of  getting  at  the  poor,  dear  natives. 

And  Sonny,  in  less  emotional  fashion,  felt  this 
to  be  so  true  that  he  worked  as  he  had  never 
worked  before.  A  sort  of  feverish  desire  to 
utilise  every  opportunity,  to  lose  no  occasion  for 
preaching  the  great  Gospel  of  Peace  came  over 
him,  and  he  spared  himself  not  at  all,  after  the 
manner  of  his  kind. 


104  FOR  THE  FAITH 

So  that  sometimes  returning  tired  out  in 
evening  from  some  long  tramp,  it  was  a  relief  to 
find  the  old  swash-buckler  ready  with  kid  jpullao 
or '  rose  chikken,'  ^  and  to  see  the  tea-kettle  swinging 
over  a  fire  of  twigs.  Sometimes  after  they  entered 
the  tract  of  forest-land  near  the  foot  of  the  hills, 
the  indefatigable  old  poacher  would  produce  a 
stew  of  black  partridge,  and  once,  Sonny,  coming 
home  to  the  tiny  tent  late  at  night,  found  his 
henchman  keeping  an  eye  on  roast  pork,  and  at 
the  same  time  utilising  the  flame-light  in  giving 
a  suspicious  clean  to  the  biggest  surgical  knife. 
A  queer  picture  seen  by  the  fire,  leaping  and 
dancing  up  into  the  shadows  of  a  mango  grove. 

But  one  evening  Sonny  came  home  with  no 
appetite  for  dinner,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards 
he  was  blue  and  shivering  in  the  cold  fit  of  ague. 

'  If  the  Huzoor  would  take  some  of  my  pills,' 
said  Dhurm  Singh  wistfully  ;  '  look  at  me  !  nothing 
touches  me,  and,  lo !  am  I  not  three  times  as  near 
the  grave  as  the  Baba-saliih  .^ ' 
^  Roast  cliickeii. 


FOE  THE  FAITH  105 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  scorn 
which  this  suggestion  met.  As  for  the  pills, 
where  would  the  old  sinner  be  but  for  the 
quinine  contained  therein  ?  This  was  nothing 
but  a  chill,  an  isolated  attack.  He  would  take 
an  extra  dose  of  the  specific  and  be  done  with  it. 

But  the  third  day,  suddenly,  in  the  very  middle 
of  an  eloquent  appeal  he  felt  goose-skin  going  in 
thrills  down  his  back,  and  five  minutes  after  the 
only  sound  he  could  make  was  the  chattering  of 
his  teeth. 

'  If  the  Huzooi\  began  Dhurm  Singh,  but  was 
checked  by  the  frown  on  the  master's  face ;  for  the 
lad  had  grit  and  fire  in  him. 

Neither  of  these,  however,  avail  much  against  a 
tertian  ague,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Sonny 
haha,  in  the  half-querulous,  half-hysterical  stage 
before  the  hot  fit  merges  into  perspiration,  con- 
fided with  tears  to  the  old  swash-buckler  that  it 
was  no  use.  He  was  an  accursed  beim*'.  From 
the  very  beginning  had  it  not  been  so  ?  And 
then  he  retailed  garrulously  many  and  many  an 


106  FOR  THE  FAITH 

incident  of  the  past  three  years,  forgotten  by  his 
retainer,  in  which  something  had  occurred  to  mar 
the  smooth  working  of  good  luck.  Something  as 
often  as  not,  it  struck  the  listener,  to  be  referred 
to  his  own  share  in  the  business.  To  the  speaker 
it  was  otherwise.  He  was  not  fit  for  the  work ;  he 
was  of  no  account,  and  now  when  at  long  last  the 
time  had  come,  when  he  felt  that  his  hand  was  on 
the  plough — 

'  It  is  time  the  Baba-saldh  took  his  quinine,' 
remarked  Dhurm  Singh  sagely,  unsympathetically. 
'If  the  Huzoor  will  give  the  keys  of  the  chest, 
this  dust-like  one  will  bring  the  medicine — dhurm 
ndl.  The  last  words  came  softly,  half  to  himself, 
and  an  important,  self-satisfied  smile  broadened 
the  open  face  as  he  made  his  choice  among  the 
bottles.  '  Lo !  there  is  it,'  he  continued,  laying 
two  pills  in  the  burning  hand  before  passmg  his 
one  arm  under  the  burning  body,  '  but  the  Huzoor 
must  have  faith.  Without  it  medicine  is  but  a 
bad  taste  in  the  moutli.  He  who  believes  shall 
be  saved.' 


FOR  THE  FAITH  107 

Perhaps  Sonny  haba  took  his  advice  yet  once 
again,  perhaps  the  quinine  got  a  fair  hold  of  the 
enemy  at  last.  Certain  it  is  that  from  the  time 
Dhurm  Singh  commenced  to  bring  the  pills  dhurm 
nctl,  the  ague  began  to  abate.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  Sonny  haba  was  eating  'rose  chikken'  once 
more  with  appetite.  That  evening,  as  the  sun 
was  setting  red  over  the  thick  brakes  of  sugar- 
cane, the  old  man  sat  pounding  diligently  with 
pestle  and  mortar  wliile  he  intoned  away  at  the 
Adhee  Grunt' h — 

'  God  asks  no  man  of  his  birth, 
He  asks  him  what  he  has  done, 
Since  all  are  the  seed  of  God, 
Lo  I  what  is  the  world  but  clay, 
Tho'  the  pots  are  of  many  moulds,' 

And  Sonny  haha,  lying  out  in  the  shade  bhss- 
fully  conscious  that  he  was  getting  better,  nay, 
that  he  was  better,  raised  himself  on  one  arm  and 
looked  over  with  moist  eyes  to  the  old  man. 
'  What  are  you  doing,  Dhurm  Singh  ? ' 
'  This  slave  makes  pills.  The  Huzoor  hath 
eaten   so  manv,  and  those  of   the  dust-like  one 


108  FOR  THE  FAITH 

have  given  out  also.  Lo  !  I  fill  the  bottles  against 
the  return  of  the  Baha-sahih  to  his  medicine 
chest.' 

*  But,  I  say !  are  you  sure  you  have  made  them 
right  ? ' 

'  The  Huzoor  may  rest  satisfied.  Five  grains 
of  the  blessed  medicine  for  the  master,  and  the 
other  as  before.     It  is  dliurm  nctl,  Hitzoor! 

'  So  you  call  it  a  blessed  medicine  now,  Dhurm 
Singh  ? ' 

'  Wherefore  not,  since  the  master  is  better  ? ' 

'  Well !  the  addition  of  that  small  quantity  of 
ipecacuanha  which  I  began — let  me  see — that  day 
when  I  was  so  bad,  certainly  had  a  marvellous 
effect.  I  shall  write  and  tell  Taylor  about  it ; 
he  was  inclined  to  sneer  at  the  idea  just  because 
he  didn't  suggest  it.  Doctors  are  awfully  jealous 
of  each  other.     That's  the  worst  of  them.' 

These  remarks  were  made  mostly  for  his  own 
benefit,  as  he  lay  comfortably  watching  the  stars 
come  out  one  by  one  as  the  daylight  died. 

It   was  that  same    night  that   Dhurm  Singh 


FOR  THE  FAITH  109 

had  his  first  go  of  ague.  It  shook  him  as  a  sharp 
attack  of  malarious  fever  does  shake  a  native  past 
his  prime,  and  Sonny  hciba,  amid  his  regrets,  could 
not  avoid  a  certain  elation. 

'  So  much  for  opium,'  he  said,  and  yet  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  a  fear  gained  ground  that  perhaps 
he  might  have  been  over  rapid  in  diminishing  the 
dose.  Now  that  the  old  man  was  actually  ill, 
it  seemed  unkind  to  deny  him  comfort ;  so  an 
addition  was  made  to  the  number  of  pills,  thus 
increasing  the  amount  both  of  opium  and  quinine. 

It  was  more  than  a  month  later  that  a  small 
procession  of  two  men  carrying  a  string  bed  on 
their  heads,  and  one  man  drivmg  a  pack  mule, 
turned  into  the  dispensary  compound. 

'  It  is  the  old  man,'  said  Sonny  haha  to  the 
doctor,  'and  I'm  afraid — '  he  paused  before  the 
break  in  his  own  voice.  '  It  was  that  terai  land. 
I  was  as  bad  as  could  be,  and  thought  I  should 
have  to  give  up ;  but,  under  Providence,  quinine 
and  ipec.  pulled  me  round  to  do  the  best  work  I 
have  ever   done  in  my  life.     But  he — he  would 


110  FOR  THE  FAITH 

stick  to  the  opium,  and  then  I'm  afraid  that  at 
first  I  hardly  noticed — you  see  he  went  round  as 
usual,  bragging  he  was  better.  So  I  didn't  think 
— the  work  was  so  absorbing,  and  I  myself  felt  so 
fit.  Otherwise,  I  might  have  gone  to  a  healthier 
part,  though,  of  course,  the  impression  w^ould  not 
have  been  so  good.  Still — it  came  upon  me  quite 
by  surprise  three  days  ago — and — and  I've  brought 
him  in  by  forced  marches.  You — '  The  voice 
failed  again.  Indeed,  there  was  no  need  for  more, 
the  doctor  being  already  on  his  knees  by  the  bed 
making  his  examination.     Suddenly  he  looked  up. 

'  Why  the  devil  did  you  stop  his  opium,  you 
young  fool  ?  Here,  Boota  Mull,  the  syringe  and  a 
disc  of  morphia — sharp.  But,  after  all,  what  does 
anything  matter  so  long  as  you  save  your  own 
soul  alive !' 

Sonny  haha,  looking  very  white,  drew  himself 
up  into  dignity.  '  We  can  discuss  that  question 
by  and  by,  Dr.  Taylor.  In  the  meantime,  let  me 
warn  you,  that  the  man  has  already  had  ten  grains 
of  opium  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours.' 


FOR  THE  FAITH  111 

The  doctor's  quick  hands  were  at  the  closed 
eyelids.  '  Ten  grains — bosh  1  But,  as  you  say, 
those  questions  can  be  settled  by  and  by — when 
he  is  dead,  if  you  Like.' 

Sonny  haba!s  face  had  grown  whiter  still.  '  I 
tell  you  he  has  had  the  opium — I  gave  it  to  hini 
myself — I  was  afraid — '  he  paused  abruptly,  and 
the  doctor  looking  up  shot  a  rapid  glance  of 
negation  towards  him. 

'  There's  a  mistake — or  else.  It  doesn't  matter 
now,  at  any  rate.     The  thing  is  done.' 

But  Sonny  haha  did  not  hear  the  latter  words, 
he  was  beside  the  mule,  fumbling  hastily  in  the 
travelling  dispensary,  of  which  the  old  man  had 
been  so  proud,  for  the  medicine  chest.  His  hands 
trembled  as  he  brought  it  back,  and  Dr.  Taylor, 
his  face  unseen,  yet  with  its  keenness  shown  in 
every  movement  of  the  capable  hands  busy  over 
the  morphia,  heard  an  odd  sound — something  be- 
tween a  gasp  and  a  cry — behind  him.  Then 
some  one  came  and  knelt  down  at  the  other  side 
of  the  bed. 


112  FOR  THE  FAITH 

'  Dhurm  Singh  ! ' 
But  there  was  no  answer. 

'Dhurm  Singh,  you  can  tell  them  it  was 
dhurm  ndl,  and  that  I  killed  you.' 

'  Killed  him — fudge  !  Though,  upon  my  soul, 
it  would  serve  you  right  if  you  had.  So  the  old 
sinner  changed  the  pills,  and  it  wasn't  the  ipec. 
after  all.  Most  reprehensible  practice,  and,  upon 
my  soul,  it  would  serve  him  right  if  he  did  die. 
Now — don't  be  a  fool,  man !  I  tell  you  he  shan't 
die — I  won't  let  him  die.  Besides,  he  can't  die — 
it's  impossible — absolutely  impossible.' 

Despite  his  despair  and  dejection,  the  young 
man  gave  a  wan  smile  at  the  other's  vehemence. 

'  And  why  ? ' 

'  Because  of  you,  naturally.  You  don't  suppose 
that  you're  fit  to  be  trusted  alone  with  a  medicine 
chest,  do  you  ?  Boota  Mull,  if  you  don't  hurry 
up  with  that  turpentine  and  the  brandy  mixture 
111  report  you.  So  it  wasn't  the  ipec.  after  all  1 
I'm  glad  of  that.' 


FOR  THE  FAITH  113 

In  after  years  the  young  fellow  used  to  deny 
strenuously  that  it  had  been  the  opium  either. 
Plainly  and  palpably  he  had  been  cured  of  his 
fever  '  by  faith.'  And  as  for  Dhurm  Singh  ? 
What  the  doctor  said  was  true ;  he  could  not  be 
spared  as  yet.  How  could  he  be  spared  when  even 
now  from  the  verandah  came  a  woman's  voice, 
soft,  confident — 

'  Dhurm  Singh,  Sonny  bahcL 

'  Huzoor  !  dhurm  ncd! 

And  any  one  looking  out  might  have  seen  a 
very  old  man,  gorgeous  in  scarlet  raiment,  decked 
with  golden  lace  and  golden  curls,  as  a  child's 
head  nestled  up  against  a  soHtary  arm,  and  a 
child's  fingers  played  with  the  solitary  medal,  or 
tugged  unavailingly  at  the  hilt  of  the  old  sword. 

'  The  Huzoor  is  too  young,'  would  come  the 

broad,  arrogant  voice,  '  but  he  will  learn — he  will 

learn.     Even  a  Sikh  is  made,  not  born.     He  must 

wait  till  the  years  bring  the  Sacred  Steel.     Let 

the  Huzoor  rest  awhile  peacefully,  and  old  Dhurm 

will  sing  to  him.' 

VOL.  I  I 


114  FOR  THE  FAITH 

Then  there  would  be  a  surreptitious  swallowing 
of  a  pill  before  the  drowsy  chant  began. 

'  He  is  of  the  Khdlsa  ^ 
Who  combats  in  the  van, 
Who  gives  in  charity, 
Who  loves  the  Poor. 

He  is  of  the  KMlsa 

Whose  mind  is  set  on  God, 

Who  never  fears  though  often  overcome, 

Knowing  all  men  created  of  one  God. 

He  is  of  the  Khdlsa 

Who  lives  in  arms, 

Who  combats  with  the  wrong. 

Who  keeps — the — faith — ' 

So  there  would  be  a  silence  broken  only  by 
the  even  breathing  of  the  old  man  and  the  child. 

For  Sonny  haha  and  his  wife,  watching  the 
scene  from  within,  only  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  and  said  nothing. 

^  The  Sikh  Commomvcalth. 


THE  BHUT-BABY 

'  According  to  established  precedent  it  is  reported, 
under  section  so  and  so,  that  one  Buddha  Singh 
of  Kidderjana  having  died,  his  rightful  heirs  in- 
herit.' The  court-reader's  voice  hurried  the  liquid 
Urdu  syllables  into  long,  sleepy  cadences  like  the 
drone  of  a  humble-bee  entangled  in  the  swaying 
punkah  overhead.  Backwards  and  forwards,  rising 
and  falling,  the  rhythm  seemed  to  l^ecome  part  of 
me,  until  the  colourless  reports  were  a  monotonous 
lullaby,  and  each  wave  of  sound  and  motion  bore 
me  farther  from  earth,  nearer  to  the  land  of 
dreams.  Ah  !  if  the  right  people  always  inherited, 
and  my  old  uncle  received  ticket -of- leave  from 
the  gout,  I  might  afford  furlough,  and  stand  once 
more  on  that  big  boulder  at  the  foot  of  the  One- 


116  THE  BHUT-BABY 

stone  pool  waiting  for  a  new  ring  of  light  to  show 
on  the  dark  eddy  by  the  far  side, — a  ring  with  a 
swirl  and  a  gleam  of  silver  scales  in  the  centre,  a 
tightening  line  under  the  finger,  till  the  reel  went 
whirr-rr-rr-rr !  It  was  a  lovely  dream  while  it 
lasted. 

'  According  to  established  precedent,  the  canal- 
officer  reports,  under  section  so-and-so,  that  certain 
rebellious  persons  in  Chori-pani  have  opened  the 
sluices  of  the  cut,  and  taken  water  that  did  not 
belong  to  them.'  The  heather-sweet  breeze  off 
the  One-stone  pool  ceased  to  blgw,  and  I  was  back, 
with  the  punkah,  in  the  humanity -laden  atmo- 
sphere of  the  court-house,  where  even  the  mos- 
quitoes were  glutted,  and  the  lizards,  hanging 
head  downwards  on  the  wall,  looked  as  if  they 
had  congestion  of  the  brain.  Stealing  water! 
Poor  wretches,  who  could  blame  them  with  their 
crops  withering  in  the  June  sun  and  the  sluice- 
doors  within  reach  ?  Even  a  juicy  apple  on  a  hot 
day  is  irresistible,  despite  Farmer  Smith's  big  dog 
watching  from  below,  while  you  sit  on  the  lower 


THE  BHUT-BABY  117 

branch,  and  Jerry  sits  on  the  upper,  eating  all  the 
ripe  fruit  just  to  pass  the  time,  and  thanking 
Providence  meanwhile  for  making  you  Christian 
children  in  a  cider- country ! 

'According  to  established  precedent  it  is  re- 
ported, under  section  so-and-so,  that  the  devil  was 
born  three  days  ago  in  village  Hairan- wallah. 
Orders  are  requested.  Meanwhile  the  cJioivkidar 
[watchman]  remains  watching  the  same.'  Startled 
into  wakefuLaess,  I  looked  sharply  to  see  if  the 
reader  had  not  been  nodding  in  his  turn ;  but  my 
alertness  merely  produced  a  respectful  iteration 
of  the  paragraph,  which  showed  all  too  clearly  my 
subordinate's  explanation  of  the  sudden  display 
of  attention. 

The  suspicion  of  sleep  is  always  irritating. 
'  Sarishtadar  / '  [clerk  of  the  Court]  I  began  in 
English,  '  what  the  de\al  ? ' 

'  Nossir,'  interrupted  the  reader  suavely  in  the 
same  language,  '  pardon  the  suggestion,  sir,  but  the 
devil  is  somewhat  free  translation,  sir.  In 
Dictionary  hhiU  (the  word  used,  sir,)  equals  an  f/z- 


118  THE   RHUT-BABY 

definite  devil,  thUvS  a  devil,  a  fiend,  a  imp — pardon 
the  indiscretion,  sir  !  an  imp.' 

A  glow  of  proud  humility  at  his  own  quick 
detection  of  these  trivial  errors  filled  up  the  pause 
which  followed,  while  the  punkah  went  on  swing- 
ing, and  I  sat  wondering  if  I  were  asleep  or  awake. 
Finally  the  sarishtadar  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink, 
fluttered  the  superfluous  moisture  on  the  carpet, 
and  suggested  deferentially  that  the  chowkidar 
was  waiting  for  orders.  A  sudden  curiosity  as  to 
what  his  self-complacent  brain,  surcharged  with 
Western  culture,  would  do  with  the  situation 
made  me  reply  curtly,  '  The  usual  orders.' 

I  managed  to  forbear  laughing  in  the  grave  face 
raised  to  mine  in  deprecating  apology.  '  I  am 
unable,  sir,'  he  said  after  a  pause, '  to  recall,  at  the 
present  moment,  any  section,  penal  or  civil,  suit- 
able to  occasion.  Would  you  kindly  jog  memory, 
sir,  by  suggesting  if  it  is  under  judicial  or  adminis- 
trative heads  ?  Or  perhaps,'  he  added,  as  a  bright 
after-thought,  '  it  is  political  job.'  Then,  I  regret 
to  say,  T  went  off  into  yells  of  unseemly  mirth,  as 


THE  BHUT-BABY  119 

most  Englishmen  have  to  do  at  times  over  the 
portentous  solemnity  of  the  Aryan  brother. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  verandah,  a  sudden 
waking  to  renewed  effort  on  the  part  of  the 
punkah  coolie,  resulting  in  a  general  breeziness. 
Or  was  it  that  Terence  O'EeiUy,  our  young  Irish 
doctor,  as  he  came  in  to  the  darkened  Court,  brought 
with  him  a  thought  of  fresh  air,  a  remembrance  of 
Nature  in  her  sunniest,  most  lovable  moods  ?  He 
invariably  suggested  such  things  to  me  at  any  rate, 
and  as  he  paused  in  astonishment  at  my  indecorous 
occupation,  I  thought  once  more  that  it  was 
a  pleasure  simply  to  look  at  him.  His  face 
sympathised  promptly  with  the  unknown  joke. 
*  Whwhat  the  diwle  are  ye  laughing  at, — me  ? '  he 
asked  in  a  rich  brogue  as  he  seated  himself  astride 
a  chair,  in  which  equestrian  position  his  dandy 
costume  for  polo  showed  to  great  advantage. 

Nero  fiddling  over  the  flames  of  Eome  is  sym- 
pathy itself  compared  to  the  indifference  with 
which  we  often  speak  the  first  lines  of  a  coming 
tragedy  in  every-day  life.     So  it  was  with  a  jest 


120  THE  BHUT-BABY 

that  I  introduced  Terence  O'Keilly  to  the  existence 
of  the  hJiut-hsibj,  and  in  so  doing  became  instantly 
aware  that  he  surpassed  me  in  other  things  besides 
good  looks.  He  could  scarcely  be  said  to  become 
grave,  for  to  lose  brightness  would  have  been  to 
lose  the  essence  of  the  man,  but  his  expression 
grew  to  a  still  more  vivid  reflex  of  his  mind. 
'  'Twill  be  one  of  those  poor  little  craytures  that 
come  into  this  worrld  God  knows  why/  he  said 
with  an  infinite  tenderness  of  voice.  '  Ten  to  wan 
'tis  better  it  should  die,  fifty  to  wan  I  can  do 
nothing  to  help  it,  but  I'll  ride  over  and  see  anny- 
how.' 

The  sarishtadar  laid  aside  his  pen  somewhat 
mournfully,  the  practical  being  out  of  his  line ; 
while  I,  smitten  by  admiration  into  immediate  re- 
gret at  my  own  indifference,  murmured  something 
about  having  thought  of  going  over  next  morning. 

'There's  no  time  loike  the  present,  my  dear 
fellow,'  he  replied  buoyantly.  '  The  pony's  at  the 
door,  and  sure  I'm  got  up  for  riding  annyhow ; 
and  as  he  spoke  he  stretched  out  his  long  legs,  and 


THE  BHUT-BABY  121 

surveyed  their  immaculate  boots  and  breeches 
critically. 

'And  what  will  your  team  do  without  their 
best  forward  ? '  I  asked,  feeling  a  certain  cap- 
tiousness  at  his  prompt  decision. 

'  Get  along  with  your  blarney  !  Sure  it's  practis- 
ing, and  you  can  take  my  place  at  that  anny  day ; 
indeed  'twas  to  fetch  you  I  ventured  into  the  dock, 
for  whin  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  your  face  at  the 
jail  this  morning  I  said  to  meself,  "  Terence,  me 
bhoy,  that's  a  case  of  polo,  or  blue  pill,  for  by  the 
powers  his  liver's  not  acting."  So  'twas  to  hound 
you  into  exercise  I  came  annyhow.' 

A  feverish  desire  to  amend  and  excuse  my  own 
lukewarmness  shot  up  through  the  loophole  his 
words  afforded.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  feeling  a 
bit  slack ;  but  if  you'll  wait  five  minutes  while  I 
slip  over  to  the  bungalow  and  change  my  clothes, 
I'll  ride  with  you  to  Hairan-wallah.  It  will  be 
better  for  me  than  polo ;  I  might  get  over-heated, 
you  know.' 

"Tis   o\eT-eating,  not  OYeT-heating   that's   the 


122  •  THE  BHUT-BABY 

matter  with  you,  me  bhoy,'  he  replied  coolly  ;  '  but 
I'm  proud, — and  by  the  powers ! '  he  added,  starting 
up  in  great  excitment,  '  you  shall  ride  my  pony ;  I 
call  him  Blue  Pill,  for  he's  better  than  wan  anny 
day ;  and  while  you're  dressing  I'll  send  me  syce 
round  for  the  Lily  of  Killarney.  I've  a  bet  on  her 
at  the  gymkhana  next  Monday,  and  we'll  try  her 
on  the  quiet  against  the  stable.' 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  I  was  enjoying  plen- 
teous exercise,  and  it  seemed  to  me,  far  behind,  as  if 
the  Lily — a  great  black  beast  without  a  single  white 
hair  on  her — was  trying  to  buck  Terence  over  into 
the  saffron-coloured  horizon,  as  she  went  along  in 
a  series  of  wild  bounds.  He  came  back  to  me, 
however,  after  a  time,  as  fresh  as  paint ;  but  the 
mare,  with  head  down  and  heaving  flanks,  appeared 
to  have  had  enough  of  it. 

'  'Tis  a  pity  the  faymale  sex  is  so  narvous,'  he  said 
casually.  '  Ye  can't  hold  'em  responsible  for  anny- 
thing ;  but  if  it  wasn't  for  hysteria  they'd  be  angels 
entirely.     She  has  the  paces  of  wan,  annyhow.' 

Fourteen  miles  of  constant  canal-cuts,  that  were 


THE  BHUT-BABY  123 

a  perpetual  joy  to  the  doctor  and  a  terror  to  me, 
brought  us  to  Hairan-wallah,  a  large  village  stand- 
ing among  irrigated  fields.  Here  cautious  inquiries 
for  the  devil  led  us  to  a  cluster  of  mud  huts 
beyond  the  pale,  where  the  low-caste  servants  of 
the  community  dwelt  apart.  Before  reaching  it 
we  were  joined  by  the  head-men  and  their  followers, 
all  anxious  to  explain  and  excuse  the  calamity 
which  had  befallen  their  reputation :  but  as  the 
fear  of  evil  eye  had  prevented  any  of  them  from 
personally  inspecting  the  fiend,  the  accounts  of  its 
appearance  were  wildly  conflicting.  The  doctor, 
indeed,  refused  to  listen  to  them,  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  sheer  waste  of  time,  and  rode  along 
affably  discussing  the  crops  with  an  aged  patriarch. 
His  manner  changed,  however,  when  we  were  re- 
quested to  dismount,  and  he  led  the  way  into  the  en- 
closure where,  guarded  by  the  police  cliowkidar,  the 
devil-baby  lay  awaiting  Government  orders.  The 
courtyard  was  hung  round  with  coloured  thread, 
old  iron,  and  other  devices  against  witchcraft, 
and  a  group  of  low-caste  men  and  women  were  hud- 


124  THE  BHUT-BABY 

died  up  dejectedly  in  one  corner.  So  far  the  crowd 
followed  us,  but  when  some  of  the  reputed  rela- 
tions showed  us  into  a  dark  out-house  at  the  further 
end,  even  curiosity  failed  to  prevent  a  visible 
hanging-back.  Blinded  by  the  change  from  the 
glare  outside,  I  could  at  first  see  nothing  but  my 
companion's  tall  form  bending  over  a  bundle  of 
rags  on  a  low  stool,  beside  which  a  half-naked  hag 
sat  chanting  a  guttural  charm,  and  before  I  re- 
gained clearer  sight  his  voice  rang  out  in  tones  of 
evident  relief, '  By  the  powers !  'tis  only  a  black 
albino.' 

The  bull  was  perfect,  seeing  that  it  conveyed 
succinctly  a  very  accurate  description.  The  Ihut- 
baby  was  a  black,  a  very  black  albino,  for  the  ab- 
normal colouring  was  confined  to  its  hair,  which 
was  unusually  well  devoloped,  and  grew  in  tight 
clustering  curls  over  its  head  like  a  coachman's 
wig.  The  faint  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  were  also 
white,  and  the  result,  if  not  devilish,  was  extremely 
startling.  For  the  rest,  it  was  as  fine  a  man-child 
as   ever   came    to  gladden   a  mother's   heart.     I 


THE  BHUT-BABY  125 

deemed  it  asleep  till  I  saw  the  doctor  bend  closer, 
and  then  raise  the  eyelid  in  keen  professional 
scrutiny. 

'  Where's  the  mother  ? '  he  cried,  turning  like 
lightning  on  the  nearest  male  relative,  and  seizing 
him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  in  order  to  emphasise 
his  words.  '  Bring  her  at  once,  or  I'll  go  inside  and 
fetch  her  myself.  The  child  has  been  left  to 
starve,'  he  added  rapidly  in  English,  '  and  it's  nigh 
dead  of  neglect.  You're  a  magistrate !  Make 
them  bring  the  devil  of  a  mother  here  at  once,  or 
it  will  die.' 

But  they  met  my  commands  and  remonstrances 
with  frightened  obstinacy,  asserting  after  some 
hesitation  that  the  mother  was  dead,  had  died 
virtuously  of  shame  at  bringing  such  disgrace  to 
her  people.  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  this 
statement  was  a  lie,  but  no  means  of  proving  it  to 
be  one,  for  of  course  the  whole  village  favoured  it. 

Then  there  came  to  Terence  O'Eeilly's  face  a 
look  that  was  good  to  see,  but  not  to  endure. 
*  And  if  the  poor  little  creature  has  lost  its  own 


126  THE  BHUT-BABY 

mother,'  he  cried  in  that  strong,  round  voice  of 
his,  '  are  there  no  other  women  among  you  all  with 
the  milk  of  kindness  in  their  breasts  that  will  give 
it  a  drink  for  the  sake  of  the  time  when  they  took 
suck  themselves  ?  Look  at  it !  What  are  you  all 
frightened  of?  'Tis  as  fine  a  babe  as  a  woman 
could  bear.  Only  the  white  hair  of  it,  and  God 
knows  we  shall  all  come  to  that  if  we  are  spared. 
Look  at  it,  I  say !  Handle  it,  and  see  for  your- 
selves ! ' 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  lifted  the 
infant  in  his  arms  and  carried  it  out  to  the  linger- 
ing light  of  day,  amt)ng  the  crowd  which  fell  back 
in  alarm  from  him  and  his  burden.  He  did, 
indeed,  look  somewhat  of  an  avenging  angel  with 
his  face  ablaze  with  indignant  appeal.  There  was 
a  scutthng  from  behind  as  some  of  the  head-men 
tried  to  force  a  sweeper -woman  to  the  front,  but 
ere  they  succeeded  she  had  promptly  gone  into 
hysterics,  and  so  roused  a  murmur  of  disappro- 
bation and  dismay  among  the  rest.  Her  shrieks 
brought  Terence  back   to  earth,  and   ceasing  to 


THE  BHUT-BABY  127 

hold  the  child  at  arm's  length,  as  if  offering  it  for 
acceptance,  he  turned  to  me  once  more.  '  xA.t 
least  your  magistracy  can  make  them  bring  me 
milk.  If  ye  can't  even  do  that,  then  God  help 
the  British  rule  ! ' 

Stung  by  the  sarcasm,  I  exerted  myself  to  such 
an  extent,  that  three  separate  head-men  arrived 
breatliless  at  the  same  moment  with  large  lotahs 
full  of  nourishment  for  the  devil,  or  any  one  else 
on  whom  the  Presence  was  foolish  enough  to  bestow 
it.     So  much  lay  within  their  conceptions  of  duty. 

The  scene  which  followed  will  linger  in  my 
memory  until  memory  itself  ceases  to  be.  Ter- 
ence in  polo-costume  seated  on  a  string  bed  under 
the  darkening  skies  with  the  devil  on  his  lap, 
feeding  it  methodically  with  the  corner  of  his 
pocket-handkerchief  moistened  in  the  milk  held 
by  three  trembling  lamhadars.  Beside  him  the 
Presence,  with,  thank  God,  sufficient  ^dtality  left 
for  admiration.  And  round  about  a  cloud  of  awe- 
struck witnesses,  wondering  at  his  audacity, 
doubtful  of  its  effect  on  the  future. 


128  THE  BHUT-BABY 

*  Sure  'tis  the  firrst  toime  I  ever  did  dhry- 
nurse/  he  remarked  after  a  long  silence,  during 
which  I  became  absorbingly  interested  in  the 
little  imp's  growing  desire  for  life.  '  Hark  to 
that,  now !  The  ungrateful  divvle's  wanting  to 
cry  just  because  it's  got  something  to  digest,  as  if 
that  wasn't  the  firrst  duty  of  a  human  stomach. 
Great  Moses  !  don't  ye  think  it's  time  you  stepped 
in  as  ripresentative  of  the  Kaiser-i-Hind,  and  took 
things  in  hand  a  bit  ?  Ah,  it's  after  having  dill- 
water  ye  are  now,  is  it  ?  Whist,  whist,  whist 
now!' 

He  walked  up  and  down,  the  crowd  swaying 
from  him,  as  he  dandled  the  infant  with  what 
seemed  to  me  marvellous  skill,  while  I  did  my 
best  to  argue  sense  into  the  dull  brains  of  the 
villagers.  I  was  quite  unsuccessful,  of  course, 
and  after  many  words  found  myself,  as  before, 
with  two  courses  open  to  me ;  either  to  leave  the 
hhut-hdihy  where  it  was,  or  give  it  in  charge  of  the 
head-men, — the  one  a  swift,  the  other  a  more 
tardy   certainty  of  death  from   that   mysterious 


THE  BHUT-BABY  129 

disease  called  '  by  the  cause  of  not  drinking  milk 
properly/  which  figures  so  largely  in  the  records 
of  infant  mortality  in  India ;  the  former  for  choice, 
since,  as  Terence  remarked, '  It  would  save  trouble 
to  kill  it  at  the  beginning  instead  of  the  end  of  its 
life.' 

'  So  the  magistracy  can  do  nothing,'  he  said  at 
last ;  '  thin  I  will.  Chowkidxtr  I  take  this  baby  to 
the  headquarters  hospital.  I'm  master  there, 
annyhow,  and  I'll  make  it  anny  case  I  please, 
and  dye  its  hair,  an'  no  man  shall  say  me  nay ! ' 

So  the  clioickidar  was  ordered  to  carry  the 
devil  to  hospital  to  be  cured  of  its  devilry,  and  we 
rode  home  in  frantic  haste,  because  Terence  was 
engaged  to  sing  'Killaloe '  that  evening  in  barracks. 
Some  of  the  relations  ran  about  a  mile  after  us 
yelling  out  blessings  for  having  removed  the 
curse  from  them. 

Six  weeks  after  I  saw  an  atrocious  hag  nursing 
a  white-haired  infant  in  the  doctor's  own  com- 
pound, and  questioned  him  on  the  subject.  '  The 
fact   is,'  he   said   ruefully,  'it   gave   fits   to   the 

VOL.  I  K 


130  THE  BHUT-BABY 

patients.  I  tried  shaving  its  head,  but  it  grew  so 
fast  and  the  white  eyelashes  of  it  betrayed  the 
cloven  hoof.  And  dye  wouldn't  stick  on ;  so  I've 
hired  a  harridan  on  two  rupees  a  month  to  look 
after  it  under  my  own  eye.' 

There  was,  no  doubt,  something  of  com- 
bativeness  in  this  particular  instance  of  Terence 
O'Keilly's  charity;  but  the  hhut-hsibj  was  by  no 
means  the  only  pensioner  on  his  bounty.  The 
row  of  mud  houses  beyond  the  cook-room  was 
filled  with  the  halt,  the  maimed,  and  the  blind — 
especially  the  latter,  for  the  fame  of  his  infinite 
skill  and  patience  as  an  eye -doctor  was  spreadmg 
far  and  wide.  Besides,  he  had  the  secret,  pos- 
sessed by  some  Englishmen  unconsciously,  of 
inspiring  the  natives  with  absolutely  unbounded 
devotion,  and  many  of  his  patients  would  literally 
have  laid  down  their  lives  for  him ;  among  others 
his  bearer,  a  high-caste  Brahman.  The  man,  who 
had  originally  come  to  him  for  blindness  of  long 
standing,  had,  on  recovery,  made  his  way  straight 
from  hospital  to  the  doctor's  house,  and  announced 


THE  BHUT-BABY  131 

his  intention  of  serving  him  till  death.  'What 
are  hands,  and  feet,  or  brain,'  he  answered  calmly 
to  all  objections,  '  if  they  have  not  eyes  to  guide 
them  ?  Therefore  are  they  all  predestined  since 
all  time  to  be  servants  to  my  Lord  the  Light- 
bringer  for  ever  and  ever.' 

Treated  at  first  as  a  joke,  Shivdeo's  determina- 
tion had  outlived  opposition,  and  at  the  time  of 
the  &Ai6^baby's  advent  he  had  achieved  his  inten- 
tion of  becoming  trusted  personal  attendant  to  the 
'Light  of  the  AVorld,'  for  without  some  such 
allusion  to  the  benefit  he  had  received  at  his 
hands  he  never  spoke  of  his  master.  The  intro- 
duction of  a  baby,  pariah  to  begin  with  and 
devil  to  follow,  brought  about  a  temporary 
disturbance  of  his  office ;  for  he  was  haughty,  with 
all  the  pride  of  his  race,  and  superstitious  beyond 
belief.  But  after  a  week  of  dismissal  consequent 
on  failing  to  provide  the  harridan  with  proper 
milk  for  the  bottle,  Shivdeo,  almost  blind  again 
with  fruitless  tears,  crept  back  to  the  Light- 
giver's  feet  and  swore  a  big  oath  to  feed  the  low- 


132  THE  BHUT-BABY 

caste  demon  himself  if  thereby  he  might  return  to 
the  only  life  he  could  live.  He  kept  his  promise 
of  strict  neutrality  to  the  letter,  never  by  word  or 
deed  showing  his  aversion  to  the  child ;  affecting 
indeed  not  to  see  it  with  those  mild,  short-sighted 
eyes  of  his.  Yet,  as  it  grew  older,  he  must  often 
have  been  brought  into  contact  with  the  child, 
for  it  would  crawl  after  the  doctor  like  a  dog. 
Despite  the  peculiarity  of  its  silvery  curls  and 
pale  blue  eyes,  it  was  really  pretty,  and  by  the 
time  it  was  two  years  old  had  picked  up  such  a 
variety  of  comical  tricks  and  odd  ways,  that 
Boots,  as  we  called  it,  became  quite  an  institu- 
tion with  the  doctor's  friends.  We  used  to  send 
for  it  to  the  verandah  and  laugh  at  the  silent 
agility  with  which  it  tumbled  for  sweetmeats,  and 
the  equally  silent  quickness  of  its  mimicry ;  for  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  the  child  was  dumb. 
Beyond  a  very  rare  repetition  of  the  feeble  wail  I 
had  first  heard  from  it  in  the  doctor's  arms  at 
Hairan-wallah,  it  made  no  articulate  sound  what- 
ever ;  but  once  or  twice  when  we  tired  of  it  and 


THE  B HUT-BABY  133 

forgot  its  presence,  I  have  heard  a  purring  noise 
hke  a  cat,  and  looking  down,  found  that  the  Httle 
creature  was  curled  up  with  its  silver  curls  rest- 
ing on  the  doctor's  foot  in  perfect  content.  He 
spent  many  hours  in  demonstrating  its  full 
possession  of  all  five  senses,  and  always  declared 
it  would  speak  in  time ;  certainly  if  speech  went 
by  intelKgence  it  would  have  been  the  most  elo- 
quent of  babies.  As  it  was,  its  unusual  silence 
undoubtedly  added  to  its  uncanny  appearance,  and 
helped  to  strengthen  the  still  lingering  belief  in 
its  devilish  origin.  As  long,  however,  as  Terence 
O'Eeilly's  voice  gave  the  orders  for  its  well-being, 
not  a  soul  in  his  compound  or  elsewhere  would 
have  dreamt  of  disobedience.  Indeed,  it  often 
struck  me  that  poor  little  Boots  lived  by  vii^tue 
of  his  exuberant  vitahty,  and  by  nothing  else. 

I  remember  one  evening  we  had  been  screanmig 
with  laughter  over  the  comical  little  creature's 
mimicry  of  Shivdeo's  stately,  short-sighted  way  of 
bringing  in  whisky  and  soda-water.  The  applause 
seemed  to  get  into  the  baby's  brain,  and  it  took 


134  THE  BHUT-BABY 

US  off  one  after  the  other  with  such  deadly  truth 
that  we  nearly  rolled  off  our  chairs.  Then  some 
one  suggested  that  we  should  ask  it  to  imitate 
Terence,  who  happened  to  be  absent ;  and  when  it 
failed  to  respond,  a  young  subaltern,  thinking  it 
had  not  understood,  came  out  with  a  fair  copy  of 
the  doctor's  round,  rich  brogue.  We  were  all 
startled  at  the  result;  the  child  made  for  the 
speaker  like  a  wild  beast,  stopped  suddenly,  then 
crept  away  with  silent  tears  brimming  up  into  its 
eyes.  I  think  we  all  felt  a  bit  ashamed,  especially 
when  Terence,  coming  in  from  a  patient,  found 
Boots  curled  up  asleep  in  a  damp  corner  by  the 
tattie,  and,  with  a  mild  rebuke  that, '  'Twas  enough 
to  give  the  poor  little  crayture  fayver  an'  ague,' 
lifted  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  proceeded  to 
carry  it  across  the  garden  to  its  harridan.  But 
he  had  hardly  raised  it  before  Shivdeo,  gliding  in 
like  a  ghost  from  heaven  knows  where,  came 
forward  and  took  the  child  from  him  with  a  rapid 
insistence  that  left  me  wondering.  So,  when  the 
man  brought  me  my  parting  cheroot,  I  questioned 


THE  B HUT-BABY  135 

him  on  liis  interference.  He  looked  startled  for 
a  moment;  then  replied  gravely  that  it  was  not 
meet  for  the  Light  of  the  Universe  to  bear  a 
sweeper's  child  in  his  bosom.  '  Xor  is  it  meet  for 
a  Brahman  either/  I  returned,  feeling  sure  he  had 
some  other  reason.  The  man's  eyes  flashed  before 
they  dropped  submissively :  '  Nor  is  it  meet  for  a 
Brahman  to  serve ;  but  the  Presence  knows  that 
this  slave  cares  not  if  he  wakes  as  a  dog  so  that  the 
Lord  of  Light  remains  to  give  sight  to  the  blind.' 

Shortly  after  this  Boots  sickened  for  some 
childish  complaint,  in  the  course  of  which  pneu- 
monia developed,  making  it  hover  for  a  day  or 
two  between  this  world  and  the  next.  Once 
more  Terence  stood  between  the  hhut-hahj  and 
the  shadow  of  death,  and  had  it  been  the  heir  of 
princes,  the  resources  of  modern  science  could 
not  have  been  more  diligently  ransacked  for  its 
benefit.  Indeed  the  doctor  looked  quite  worn 
out  when  I  met  him  one  morning,  going,  as  he 
said,  to  give  himself  a  freshener  by  taking  the 
Lily  round  the  steeple-chase  course. 


136  THE  BHUT-BABY 

'You're  over-working,  Terence/  said  I,  noting 
his  fine-drawn  clearness  of  feature ;  '  up  all  night 
after  Boots  (I'm  glad  to  hear  the  little  fellow's 
better  by  the  way),  and  Blue  Pill  waiting  for  you 
day  after  day  till  after  dark  at  the  hospital  gates, 
to  say  nothing  of  gymkhanas.  It  won't  do  for 
long ;  I'm  serious  about  it,  old  chap.' 

'  Are  you  ?  Well,  it's  kind  of  you  to  be  that, 
he  laughed ;  '  though  mayhap  'twould  be  more  of 
a  change  for  your  friends  if  you  were  the  t'other 
thing.  Don't  fret  yourself  about  me,  annyhow ; 
I'm  well  enough.  Maybe  'tis  having  done  dhry- 
nurse  to  him  at  first  that  makes  me  feel  Boots  on 
me  mind;  but  I  think  he's  well  through.  And 
d'ye  know !  the  little  beggar  wouldn't  touch  a 
thing  unless  I  gave  it  him.  'Tis  a  queer  place 
this  worrld,  annyhow.' 

His  voice  had  a  suspicion  of  a  break  in  it,  and 
his  eyes  were  brighter  than  ever ;  whence  I  aug- 
ured that  he  felt  worse  than  he  cared  to  confess. 
Next  day  he  sent  a  note  asking  me  to  inspect  the 
jail  for  him,  as  he  was  going  to  try  conclusions 


THE  BHUT-BABY  137 

with  his  liver ;  the  day  after  I  found  him  in  bed, 
but  lively.  Then  the  deadly  fever  which  kills  so 
many  fine  young  fellows  in  India  laid  fast  hold 
on  him,  and  for  three  long  weeks  we,  w^ho  loved 
him,  watched  the  struggle  for  life,  helpless  to  do 
aught  save  keep  up  his  strength  as  best  we  might 
against  the  coming  crisis.  It  was  as  if  a  calamity 
had  befaUen  the  whole  Station.  Men  when  they 
met  each  other  asked  first  of  all  how  he  was ;  and 
women  sent  jeUies  and  soups  enough  for  a  regi- 
ment to  the  bungalow  where  the  young  doctor, 
who  had  soothed  so  many  of  their  troubles,  lay 
bravely  fighting  out  his  own.  Quite  a  crowd  of 
natives  gathered  round  the  gate  by  early  dawn, 
waiting  for  new^s  of  the  past  night ;  and,  so  far  as 
I  knew,  Shivdeo  never  left  the  verandah  during 
all  those  weary  days.  I  could  see  him  from  my 
post  by  the  bed,  sitting  like  a  bronze  statue 
against  a  pillar,  whence  my  slightest  sign  would 
rouse  him.  For  I  assumed  the  ofiice  of  head-nurse 
after  Terence,  fuU  of  gratitude  for  the  kindly  offers 
of  help  showered  upon  him,  had  said  with  a  wist- 


138  THE  BHUT-BABY 

ful  gleam  of  the  old  mischief, '  But  I  loike  your 
sober  face  best,  old  man ;  it  makes  me  feel  so 
pious.'  I  sent  in  for  leave  that  morning  and 
never  left  him  again. 

It  was  the  twenty-sixth  day,  about  ten  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  that  the  doctor  in  charge  shook 
his  head  over  my  patient  sorrowfully.  'He  is 
terribly  weak,  but  while  there's  life —  We  shall 
know  by  dawn.' 

The  old  formula  fell  on  my  ears — though  I  had 
been  waiting  for  it — with  a  sense  of  sickening 
failure,  and  unable  to  reply,  I  turned  away  from 
the  figure  which  lay  so  still  and  lifeless  despite 
all  my  care.  As  I  did  so  I  noticed  Shivdeo  listen- 
ing with  eyes  and  ears  at  the  door.  For  the  last 
three  days  the  man  had  been  strangely  restless, 
and  more  than  once  I  had  discovered  odd  things 
disposed  about  the  room,  and  even  on  poor 
Terence's  pillow, — things  used  as  talismans  to 
keep  away  the  evil  eye,  such  as  I  had  seen  in 
Hairan- wallah  when  the  hhiU-haby  was  born ; 
and  I  had  smiled, — good  heavens,  how  ignorant 


THE  BHUT-BABY  139 

we  are  in  India  ! — smiled  at  the  silly  superstition 
which  evidently  lingered  in  Shivdeo's  mind.  He 
came  to  me  when  the  doctor  left  to  ask  if  he  had 
understood  rightly  that  the  great  hour  of  hope  or 
dread  drew  nigh.  I  told  him  we  should  know  by 
dawn,  and  that  till  then  all  must  be  quiet  as  the 
grave.  His  face  startled  me  by  its  intensity,  as 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  unconscious  face  of  his  master  and  salaamed 
to  it  with  all  the  reverence  he  would  have  given 
to  a  god.  But  he  spoke  calmly  to  me,  saying 
that  as  I  would  doubtless  be  loth  to  leave  the 
room  he  would  order  the  servants  to  brino-  me 
something  to  eat  there.  He  presently  appeared, 
bearing  the  tray  himself,  giving  as  a  reason  for 
tliis  unusual  service  his  desire  to  avoid  any  dis- 
turbance. It  was  just  upon  twelve  o'clock  when, 
with  Shivdeo's  help,  I  gave  Terence,  who  was 
quite  unconscious,  a  few  drops  of  stimulant 
before  sitting  down  with  a  sinking  heart  to  my 
anxious  watch.  It  was  early  April,  and  the  doors, 
set   wide  open  to  let  in   the  cool  air,  showed  a 


140  THE  BHUT-BABY 

stretch  of  moonlit  grass  where  shadows  from  the 
unseen  trees  above  quivered  and  shifted  as  the 
night- wind  stirred  the  leaves.  In  the  breathless 
silence  I  could  hear  even  the  faint  respiration  of 
the  sick  man,  and  found  myself  counting  its  rise 
and  fall,  until  the  last  thing  I  remembered  was 
Shivdeo's  immovable  figure  with  the  moonlight 
streaming  full  in  his  face. 

When  I  awoke  the  rapid  Eastern  dawn  had 
come.  The  sparrows  were  twittering  in  the 
verandah,  and  Shivdeo  stood  by  his  master's  bed 
holding  his  finger  to  his  lips.  '  Hush  ! '  he  whis- 
pered, as  my  eyes  met  his ;  '  the  light  has  brought 
life  to  the  Giver  of  Lig^ht.' 

It  must  have  been  the  sound  of  wheels  which 
woke  me,  for  ere  I  had  time  to  reply  the  doctor 
entered  the  room,  and  after  a  glance  at  his  patient 
shook  me  silently  by  the  hand.  '  I  believe  he's 
through,'  he  said,  when  he  had  cautiously  exam- 
ined the  sleeping  man;  '  fever  gone,  pulse  stronger. 
I  scarcely  dared  to  hope  for  it  even  with  his 
splendid  constitution.     Hullo  !  what's  that  ?'     It 


THE  BHUT-BABY  141 

was  only  a  tiny  spot  of  blood  on  the  forehead  just 
where  the  trident  of  Shiva  is  painted  by  his 
worshippers,  but  it  showed  \dvidly  against  the 
pallor  of  the  skin. 

'  There  is  a  Httle  spot  by  the  Light-giver's  feet 
also/  remarked  Shivdeo  quietly.  '  I  noticed  it 
yesterday  just  after  the  Presence  cut  his  hand 
with  the  soda-water  bottle.'  And  sure  enough 
there  was  one. 

'  I  can't  think  how  I  came  to  fall  asleep,'  I  said 
to  him  after  the  doctor  had  gone;  'just  at  the 
critical  time,  too,  when  I  was  most  wanted.' 

The  man  smiled.  'We  do  not  always  guess 
aright  when  we  are  wanted,  Huzoor.  You  slept 
and  the  Light-giver  got  better.  It  is  God's  way  ; 
He  has  refreshed  you  both.' 

'  Eefreshed  1 '  I  retorted  crossly.  '  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  been  pounded  in  a  mortar.  I  had  the  most 
frightful  dreams,  but  I  can't  recall  what  they 
were.' 

'It  is  not  well  to  try,'  replied  Shivdeo,  with 
rather  an  odd  look.     'If  I  were  the  Presence  I 


142  THE  BHUT-BABY 

would  forget  them.  There  is  enough  evil  to  come 
without  recalling  what  is  past  and  over  for  ever.' 

Perhaps  involuntarily  I  followed  his  suggestion, 
for,  though  I  chased  the  fleeting  memory  more 
than  once  through  my  brain,  I  never  overtook  it. 

Terence  O'Eeilly  made  a  quick  recovery ; 
but  in  view  of  the  fast-approaching  hot  weather, 
the  doctors  put  him  on  board  ship  as  soon  as  it 
could  be  done  with  safety.  Hurry  was  the  order 
of  the  day,  so  it  was  not  until  my  return  from 
seeing  him  to  Bombay  that  I  found  time  for  out- 
side affairs.  Then  it  was  that  Shivdeo  informed 
me  of  poor  little  Boots'  death  in  the  interval.  As 
the  Presence  was  aware,  he  said,  it  had  been 
thought  advisable  when  perfect  quiet  was  neces- 
sary to  the  Light-bringer  to  send  the  child  away 
from  the  compound,  because  of  the  difficulty  ex- 
perienced in  keeping  it  out  of  the  house.  So  it 
had  gone  with  its  nurse  to  the  cantonment- 
sweeper's  hut,  where  it  had  caught  fresh  cold  and 
died.  By  the  advice  of  the  native  doctor  who  had 
seen  it,  he  had  kept  the  death  secret  at  first,  from 


THE  BHUT-BABY  143 

fear  of  the  news  delaying  his  master's  recovery. 
I  made  every  inquiry,  but  found  nothing  of  any 
kind  to  give  rise  to  suspicion  of  foul  play.  The 
native  doctor  had  sent  medicine  three  days  run- 
ning as  for  bronchitis,  and  on  the  fourth  he  had 
seen  the  child's  dead  body.  It  had  died,  he 
thought,  of  croup. 

'  You  will  write  and  tell  the  Light-bringer  ? ' 
asked  Shivdeo  when  the  inquiry  was  over.  '  And 
you  will  say  that  I  did  my  best,  my  very  best,  for 
my  lord's  interest  ? ' 

'  Certainly,'  I  replied ;  '  but  he  will  be  sorry, 
the  child  was  so  fond  of  him.' 

*  When  people  are  beautifid  as  Krishna  like 
the  Lord  of  Light  it  is  easy  to  be  fond  of  them.' 

I  did  not  see  Shivdeo  again  for  over  three 
months,  and  the  bungalow  in  the  Civil  Lines, 
which  he  kept  swept  and  garnished  against  his 
master's  return,  gradually  assumed  the  soulless, 
empty  appearance  peculiar  to  the  dwelUng-places 
of  those  who  make  holiday  at  the  other  side  of 
the  world.     Then  a  message  came  to  say  that  he 


144  THE  BHUT-BABY 

was  ill,  and  wished  to  see  me  on  business.  I 
found  him,  a  mere  wreck  and  shadow  of  his 
former  self,  propped  up  against  his  old  pillar  in 
the  verandah.  He  shook  his  head  over  my  sug- 
gestions of  remedies.  '  I  have  taken  many,'  he 
replied  quietly,  '  for  the  native  doctor  is  my  caste- 
brother.  The  hand  of  Shiva  is  not  to  be  turned 
aside,  and  am  I  not  his  sworn  servant  ?  What 
ails  me  ?  Nay,  who  can  say  what  ails  the  heart 
when  it  ceases  to  beat  ?  Men  cannot  live  with- 
out the  light,  and  it  is  night  for  me  now.  Per- 
haps that  is  it,  who  knows  ?  Yonder  old  man  is  my 
father  come  to  see  me  die  ;  yet  ere  the  last  "  Eam- 
Eam"  sounds  in  mine  ears  I  want  the  Presence 
to  understand  something,  else  would  I  not  have 
vexed  his  quiet.  It  will  be  hard  for  the  Hiizoor 
to  understand,  because  he  is  not  of  our  race.' 

He  paused  so  long  that  I  asked  what  he 
wished  me  to  understand,  thinking  that  in  his 
weakness  he  had  drifted  away  from  his  desire. 
'  Something  new  and  strange,'  he  answered,  '  yet 
old  and  true.     See !     I  sit  here  in  the  old  place, 


THE  BHUT-BABY  145 

and  the  Presence  shall  sit  there  as  he  used  to  do, 
because  old  memories  return  in  the  old  places, 
making  us  see  and  remember  things  that  are  past 
or  forgotten.     Is  it  not  so  ? ' 

Truly  enough,  as  I  humoured  him  by  occupy- 
ing the  familiar  chair,  ready  placed  half-way  be- 
tween the  bed  and  the  window,  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  I  were  once  more  watching  Terence  pass 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow. 

'The  Presence  once  slept  in  that  chair,'  con- 
tinued the  weak  voice,  '  and  he  dreamed  a  dream. 
Let  him  recall  it  now,  if  he  can.' 

How  or  wherefore  I  know  not,  but  as  he  spoke 
a  sudden  certainty  as  to  what  he  wished  me  to 
know  rushed  in  on  me.  'Great  God,'  T  cried, 
starting  up  and  seizing  him  roughly  by  the 
shoulder,  '  you  killed  poor  little  Boots  1  You 
brought  the  child  here  !  You  killed  it  before  his 
very  eyes  and  mine !  I  know  it !  I  think, — I 
think  I  saw  it  done  ! ' 

He  set  my  hand  aside  with  unexpected  force 

and  a  strange   dignity.     '  I  am  the  prisoner   of 
VOL.  I  L 


146  THE  BHUT-BABY 

Death,  Hiizoor  I  There  is  no  need  to  hold  me ; 
I  cannot  escape  him.  For  the  rest,  if  I  killed  the 
child,  what  then  ?  The  Lord  of  Light  lives  and 
that  is  enough  for  me.  What  is  a  Sudra  or  two 
more  or  less  to  the  Brahman  ?  But  what  if  it 
was  a  devil  sucking  his  heart's  blood  because  of 
his  beauty  ?  Shall  I  not  have  honour  for  saving 
him  ?  Thus  both  ways  I  am  absolved ;  but  not 
from  my  oath,  the  false  oath  which  I  swore  to  my 
lord  for  my  own  sake.  When  I  wander  through 
the  shades  waiting  for  Vishnu's  decree,  it  will 
lead  my  blind  steps  to  the  body  of  a  foul  thing. 
So  I  speak  that  the  Presence  may  judge  and  say 
if  I  were  not  justified,  and  confess  that  we  people 
of  the  old  knowledge  are  not  always  wrong. 
Huzoor !  you  have  seen  its  eyes  glisten,  as  its 
body  clung  to  his  beauty ;  you  know  he  sickened 
after  it  had  lain  night  and  day  in  his  arms ;  you 
know  how  it  crept  and  crawled  to  get  at  him 
while  he  lay  helpless.  Now  listen  !  One  day  he 
was  better,  brighter  in  all  things,  and  bid  you  re- 
fresh yourself  in  the  air.    I  sat  here,  and  like  you 


THE  BHUT-BABY  147 

I  fell  asleep ;  and  when  I  woke  the  thing  was  at 
him,  close  to  his  heart,  its  arms  round  his  neck, 
its  devilish  lips  at  his  throat,  crooning  away  like 
an  accursed  cat !  And  he  was  in  the  death-sleep 
that  lasted  till  the  dawn  came  that  you  and  I  re- 
member so  well.  Then  I  knew  it  must  be,  and 
that  my  oath  was  as  a  reed  in  the  flood.  Yet 
would  I  not  be  hasty.  I  took  counsel  with  holy 
men,  men  of  mighty  wisdom,  men  with  such 
tenderness  for  life  that  they  bid  God  speed  to  the 
flea  which  keeps  them  wakeful ;  but  they  all  said, 
"  Yea  !  one  of  the  two  must  die."  Did  I  stop  to 
ask  which  ?  Xot  I.  So  I  fasted,  and  prayed,  and 
made  clean  my  heart,  and  waited  patiently  for  the 
moment  of  fate  ;  for  so  they  bid  me.  Even  then, 
Huzoor,  the  holy  men  would  do  naught  by  chance 
or  without  proof  It  was  a  bright  moonlight 
night,  and  the  Presence  slept  by  reason  of  our 
arts  and  drugs ;  and  so  we  put  the  accursed 
creature  we  had  brought  from  the  sweeper's  hut 
down  at  the  gate,  yonder  by  the  flowering 
oleanders,    and   hiding    ourselves    among    them, 


148  THE  BHUT-BABY 

watched  it.  Straight,  straight  as  a  hawk  or  a 
bustard,  until  we  found  it  there  in  the  old  place  ! 
Devil  of  Hell !  we  made  it  vomit  back  the  blood, 
we — ' 

My  hand  was  on  his  mouth,  my  one  thought  to 
stop  the  horrible  words  that  somehow  conjured 
up  the  still  more  horrible  sight  before  my  eyes. 
'  I  know, — there  is  no  need  for  more, — I  cannot 
bear  it.' 

And  indeed,  the  vision  of  poor  dumb  little 
Boots  in  their  relentless  hold  froze  my  blood. 
As  my  hands  fell  away  from  him  in  sudden, 
shrinking  horror,  he  looked  at  me  compassion- 
ately. '  The  Presence  does  not  understand  aright. 
Let  him  remember  the  strange  doctor's  face  when 
he  came  in  the  dawn,  thinking  to  find  hope  had 
fled.  One  of  the  two  had  to  die.  If  the  Presence 
had  thought  as  I  did,  as  I  hneic,  what  would  he 
have  done  ? ' 

I  was  silent. 

His  face,  which  had  remained  calm  enough  so 
far,  assumed  a  look  of  agonized  entreaty,  as  with 


THE  BHUT-BABY  149 

an  effort  painful  to  see  he  dragged  himself  to  my  feet 
and  clung  to  them.  '  What  would  you  have  done, 
Huzoor,  in  my  place  ?  WTiat  would  you  have 
done  ? ' 

Then  a  fearful  fit  of  coughing  seized  him,  and 
his  lips  were  tinged  wdth  blood.  Water  lay  close 
at  hand,  yet  I  knew  that  this  murderer  would 
sooner  have  died  than  accept  it  from  my  defiling 
hand ;  so  I  called  the  old  man  who  all  this  time 
had  sat  like  a  carven  image  in  the  next  archway. 
He  came,  and  wiped  the  dews  of  death  from  his 
son's  face  without  a  word;  and  as  he  did  so, 
Shivdeo,  looking  at  the  faint  stains  on  the  cloth, 
smiled  an  unearthly  smile,  and  whispered,  '  I  did 
not  suck  my  lord's  blood,  for  all  that.  It  comes 
from  my  own  heart.' 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  my  brain  was  in 
such  a  whirl  that  I  turned  to  escape  from  a  situa- 
tion where  I  felt  utterly  lost.  As  I  did  so,  I  heard 
Shivdeo's  voice  for  the  last  time.  The  old  man 
was  holding  a  little  brass  cup  of  water  to  the 
parched  lips ;  but  it  was  arrested  by  the  dying 


150  THE  BHUT-BABY 

hand,  and  the  dying  eyes  looked  wistfully  up  into 
his  father's. 

'  Did  I  do  well,  0  my  father  ? '  he  asked. 

'  You  did  well,  my  son ;  drink  in  peace.' 

When  I  reached  home,  the  English  mail  was 
in.  It  brought  a  letter  from  Terence.  He  was 
in  Dublin  and  engaged  to  be  married ;  considering 
that  he  was  an  Irishman,  no  more  need  be  said. 
He  wrote  the  kindest  letter,  saying  that  the  great 
happiness  which  had  come  into  his  life  made  him 
all  the  more  grateful  to  me,  seeing  that  but 
for  my  care  he  would  have  gone  down  to  the 
grave  without  knowing  how  the  love  of  a 
good  woman  can  make  existence  seem  a  sacred 
trust.  He  ended  by  these  w^ords,  '  And  sure, 
old  man,  if  it  be  true  that  all  happiness  is 
bought,  some  one  must  have  paid  dear  for 
mine ! ' 

I  could  not  sleep  that  night — the  war  of  con- 
flicting thoughts  waged  too  fiercely;  but  it  was 
nearly  dawn  before  I  found  it  impossible  to  with- 
stand the  memory  of  Shivdeo's  cry :  '  If  the  Pre- 


THE  BHUT-BABY  151 

sence  had  tliouglit  as  I  did,  what  would  he  have 
done  ? ' 

He  was  dead  before  I  reached  the  house,  but 
surely  if  he  knows  anything,  he  must  know  that 
I,  for  one,  cast  no  stone. 


KAMCHUNDEEJI 

'  But  the  tenth  avatar  of  the  Lord  Yishnii  is  yet 
to  come.' 

'  Exactly  so,  pundit-y-i/  I  replied,  looking  at  my 
watch.  '  It  is  yet  to  come,  seeing  that  time's  up. 
Half-past  eight ;  so  not  another  stroke  of  work  to- 
day.    No,  not  for  twice  a  thousand  rupees  ! ' 

A  thousand  rupees  being  the  sum  with  which 
the  Government  of  India  rewards  what  they  are 
pleased  to  call  '  high  proficiency '  in  languages,  I, 
having^  regard  to  its  literature,  had  chosen  Sanskrit 
as  a  means  of  paying  certain  just  debts.  To  which 
end  the  head-master  of  the  district  school  came  to 
me  for  two  hours  every  morning,  and  prosed  away 
over  the  doings  of  the  Hindoo  pantheon  until  I 
came   to    the   conclusion   that   my  Lord  Vishnu 


RAMCHUNDER  JI  153 

had  been  rather  extravagant  in  the  matter  of 
incarnations. 

The  pundit,  however,  to  whom  would  be  due  a 
hundred  rupees  of  the  thousand  if  I  succeeded, 
smiled  blandly.  '  The  tenth  avatar  will  doubtless 
await  his  Honour's  leisure ;  the  tenth,  and  last.' 

'  Last ! '  I  echoed  with  scorn.  '  How  do  you 
know  ?  Some  authorities  hold  there  are  twenty- 
four,  and  upon  my  soul  I  don't  see  why  there 
should  not  be  twenty-four  thousand.  'Tis  the 
same  old  story  all  through :  devils  and  demigods, 
rakshas  and  rishies,  Noah's  ark  and  Excalibur. 
That  sort  of  tiling  might  go  on  for  ever.' 

Now,  pundit  Xarayan  Das  was  a  very  learned 
man.  He  had  taken  a  Calcutta  degree,  and  was 
accustomed  to  educate  the  rising  generation  on  a 
mixture  of  the  Big  Veda  and  The  Sijectator.  So  he 
smiled  again,  saying  in  English,  'History  repeats 
itself.' 

Thereupon  he  left  me,  and  I,  going  into  the 
verandah  with  my  cigar,  came  straight  upon  Eam- 
chunderji  and  his  wife  Seeta.     At  least  I  think  so. 


154  RAMCHUNDERJI 

They  were  the  oddest  httle  couple.  He,  at  a 
stretch,  might  have  touched  a  decade  of  life,  she, 
something  more  than  half  such  distance  of  time. 
That  is,  taking  them  by  size  :  in  mind  and  manners, 
and  in  their  grave,  careworn  faces,  they  were  cen- 
turies old.  His  sole  garment  consisted  of  a  large 
yellow  turban  twined  high  into  a  sort  of  mitre, 
with  just  a  tip  of  burnished  silver  fringe  sprouting 
from  the  top ;  and,  as  he  sat  cross-legged  against 
the  verandah  pillar,  a  hand  resting  on  each  knee,  his 
figure  awoke  a  fleeting  memory  which,  at  the  time,  I 
failed  to  catch.  Afterwards  I  remembered  the  effi- 
gies in  Indra's  celestial  court  as  represented  by  some 
Parsee  actors  I  had  once  seen.  Seeta  was  simply  a 
bundle,  owing  to  her  being  huddled  and  cuddled 
up  in  a  veil  ample  enough  for  an  ample  woman. 

'  I  am  Eamchunderji,  and  this  is  my  wife  Seeta,' 
said  the  boy  gravely.  '  If  the  Presence  pleases,  I 
will  beguile  time  by  singing.' 

'What  will  you  sing?'  I  asked,  preparing  to 
idle  away  ten  minutes  comfortably  in  a  lounge - 
chair  which  lay  convenient. 


RAMCHUNDEEJI  155 

'  I  sing  what  I  sing.     Give  me  the  vina,  woman.' 

The  veil  gave  up  such  a  very  large  instrument 
that  the  smallness  of  the  remaining  wife  became 
oppressive.  So  large  indeed  was  it,  that  one  gourd 
over-filled  the  boy's  lap,  while  the  other  acted  as 
a  prop  to  the  high  twined  turban.  Even  the  con- 
necting bamboo,  slender  though  it  was,  seemed  all 
too  wide  for  those  small  fingers  on  the  frets. 

'  Is  the  permission  of  the  Presence  bestowed  ? ' 
suggested  Eamchunderji,  with  the  utmost  solem- 
nity. 

Twano;,  twang,  twangle  !  Heavens,  what  a  mna 
and  what  a  voice  !  I  nearly  stopped  both  at  the 
first  bar ;  then,  patience  prevailing,  I  lay  back  and 
closed  my  eyes.  Twang,  twangle !  A  sudden 
difference  in  the  tone  made  me  open  them  again, 
only  to  find  the  same  little  bronze  image  busy  in 
making  a  perfectly  purgatorial  noise  ;  so  I  resigned 
myself  once  more.  Palm-trees  waving,  odorous 
thickets  starred  with  jasmine,  forms,  half-mortal 
half-divine,  steahng  through  the  shadows,  the 
flash  of  shining  swords,  the  twang  of  golden  bows 


156  RAMCHUNDERJI 

bent  on  ten-heacled  many-handed  monsters.  Bah  ! 
Pundit  Narayan  Das,  prosing  over  those  epic  poems 
of  his,  had  made  me  drowsy.  'What  have  you 
been  singing  ? '  I  asked,  rousing  myself. 

Eamchunderji  spread  his  hands  thumbs  out- 
wards, and  the  three  wrinkles  on  his  high  forehead 
deepened :  '  God  knows !  It  is  what  they  sang 
before  the  great  flood  came.  The  vina  was  theirs, 
and  my  turban,  and  my  wife's  veil ;  the  rest  was 
too  big  altogether,  so  I  gave  it  away  for  some 
bread.  When  the  belly  is  full  of  greed  the  heart 
hath  none  left,  and  the  miie-laMi  necklace  is  worth 
no  more  than  a  mouthful.  If  the  Presence  could 
see  into  my  heart  now,  he  would  find  no  greed 
there.' 

This  delicate  allusion  to  an  inw^ard  craving  pro- 
duced a  four-anna  bit  from  my  pocket,  and  sent 
Eamchunderji  away  to  the  sweetmeat  sellers  in 
order  to  appease  his  hunger;  for  sweet-stuff  is 
cheap  in  the  East,  especially  when  it  is  stale. 
Seeta  and  the  vina,  mysteriously  intertwined  be- 
neath the  veil,  followed  duteously  behind. 


RAMCHUNDERJI  157 

The  next  clay  they  were  back  again,  and  the 
twang  of  that  infernal  instrument  broke  in  on  the 
pundit's  impassioned  regrets  over  the  heroic  days 
of  his  favourite  poems.  '  By-the-bye/  I  interrupted, 
'  can  you  tell  me  what  that  boy  is  singing  ?  I 
can't  make  out  a  word,  and  yet — '  But  it  was 
no  use  bringing  fancy  to  bear  on  Xarayan  Das,  so 
we  went  out  to  listen.  They  were  sitting  under  a 
trellised  arch  covered  with  jasmine  and  roses,  and 
a  great  Gloire  de  Dijon  had  sent  a  shower  of  blown 
petals  over  Seeta's  veil. 

'A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing,' 
quoted  Narayan  Das  sententiously,  after  listen- 
ing a  while.  '  It  is  Eamayana,  the  immortal  poem 
your  honour  reads  even  now  ;  but  debase,  illiterate. 
You  say  wrong,  boy  !  it  is  thus.' 

Kamchunderji  waited  till  the  pompous  periods 
ceased ;  then  he  shook  his  head  gravely.  '  We 
did  not  sing  it  so  in  the  days  before  the  great 
flood  came.' 

His  words  gave  me  a  curious  thrill ;  but  there 
is  no  more  matter-of-fact  being  in  the  world  than 


158  KAMCHUNDERJI 

a  Calcutta  Bachelor  of  Arts;  so  the  pundit  at 
once  began  a  cross-exammation  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  Queen's  Counsel,  '  What  flood  ? 
who  were  "  we  "  ? '  These  and  many  other  ques- 
tions put  with  brutal  bluntness  met  with  a  patient 
reply. 

It  had  been  a  very  big  flood,  somewhere,  God 
knows  how  far,  in  the  south  country.  One,  two, 
three  years  ago  ?  Oh,  more  than  that !  but  he 
could  not  say  how  much  more.  The  bard  who 
sang  and  the  woman  who  carried  the  vina  had 
disappeared,  been  swept  away  perhaps.  Since  then 
he,  Eamchunderji,  had  wandered  over  the  world 
filling  his  stomach  and  that  of  his  wife  Seeta  with 
songs.  Their  stomachs  were  not  always  full ;  oh 
no  !  Of  late  (perhaps  because  the  vina  was  so  old) 
people  had  not  cared  to  listen,  and  since  the  great 
flood  nothing  could  be  got  without  money.  Seeta? 
Oh  yes  !  she  was  his  wife.  They  had  been  married 
ever  so  long;  he  could  not  remember  the  time 
when  they  had  not  been  married. 

It  was  Narayan  Das's  opportunity  for  shaking 


KAMCHUNDERJI  159 

his  head.  These  infant  marriages  were  subversive 
of  due  education.  Here  was  a  boy,  who  should  be 
in  Standard  II.  doing  the  compound  rules,  idling 
about  in  ignorance.  It  struck  me,  however,  that 
Eamchunderji  must  be  pretty  well  on  to  vulgar 
fractions  and  rule  of  three,  with  himself,  Seeta, 
and  the  world  as  the  denominators,  so  I  asked  him 
if  his  heart  were  still  so  devoid  of  greed  that 
another  four -anna  bit  would  be  welcome.  His 
face  showed  a  pained  surprise.  The  Presence,  he 
said,  must  be  aware  that  four  annas  would  fill  their 
stomachs  (which  were  not  big)  for  many  days. 
They  had  not  come  for  alms,  only  to  make  music 
for  the  Presence  out  of  gratitude.  Thinking  that 
music  out  of  an  ill-tuned  vina  was  hardly  the  same 
thing  I  forced  another  four-anna  bit  on  the  boy 
and  sent  him  away. 

Nearly  a  month  passed  ere  I  saw  him  again, 
though  Narayan  Das  and  I  used,  as  the  days  grew 
warmer,  to  sit  out  in  the  trellised  arch,  within 
sight  of  the  road.  My  knowledge  of  Sanskrit 
increased  as  I  read  of  Piamchunderji's  long  exile, 


160  RAMCHUNDERJI 

shared  by  Seeta,  his  wife;  of  how  he  killed  the 
beasts  in  the  enchanted  forest ;  how  she  was  reft 
from  him  by  Eavana  the  hydra -headed  many- 
handed  monster ;  and  of  how  finally  she  was  re- 
stored to  his  arms  by  the  help  of  Hanuman,  the 
man-monkey,  the  child  of  the  wild  winds.  But 
though  the  pundit  used  to  waste  many  words  in 
pointing  out  the  beauties  of  a  poem  which  held 
such  hold  on  the  minds  of  the  people  that  their 
commonest  names  were  derived  from  it,  I  never 
seemed  to  get  into  the  spirit  of  the  time  as  I  had 
done  when  I  listened  with  closed  eyes  to  the  boy's 
debased,  illiterate  rendering  of  the  slokas. 

It  was  after  the  school  vacation  had  sent 
Narayan  Das  to  see  his  relatives  at  Benares  that 
the  odd  little  couple  turned  up  again.  Eamchun- 
derji's  face  looked  more  pinched  and  careworn 
than  ever,  and  as  he  held  the  vina  across  his  knees, 
Seeta,  losing  its  contours,  seemed  more  than  ever 
inadequate  to  her  veil. 

'  Perhaps  one  of  the  many  devils  which  beset 
the  virtuous  has  entered  into  the  instrument,'  he 


RAMCHUNDER  JI  161 

said,  despondently ;  '  but  when  I  play,  folk  listen 
not  at  all.  So  greed  remaineth  in  the  stomach, 
and  the  heart  is  empty.' 

I  ofiered  him  another  foiir-anna  bit,  and  when 
he  demurred  at  taking  it  before  beguiling  the 
tinie  with  music,  I  laid  it  on  the  flat  skin 
top  of  one  of  the  gourds,  hoping  thus  to  ensure 
silence. 

The  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  seemed  to  go 
right  up  into  his  turban,  and  his  voice  took  a  per- 
plexed tone.  '  It  used  not  to  be  so.  Before  the 
flood  Seeta  and  I  had  no  thought  of  money;  but 
now — '  He  began  fingering  the  strings  softly, 
and  as  they  thrilled,  the  four- anna  bit  vibrated 
and  jigged  in  a  murmur  of  money  that  fitted 
strangely  to  the  sort  of  rude  chant  in  which  he 
went  on. 

'  Money  is  in  tlie  hands,  the  head,  the  heart ; 

Give  !  give,  give,  before  we  give  again  ; 
Money  hath  ten  heads  to  think  out  evil-doing  ; 

Money  hath  twenty  hands  to  mete  out  pain. 
Money  !  money  !  money  !  money  ! 

Money  steals  the  heart's  love  from  our  life. 
Money  I  have  not — say  !  art  thou  hungry,  wife  ? ' 
VOL.  I  M 


162  KAMCHUNDERJI 

If  anything  was  possessed  of  a  devil  it  was  that 
four-anna  bit.  It  buzzed,  and  hummed,  and  jigged 
infernally,  as  the  boy's  finger  on  the  strings  struck 
more  firmly. 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Eamchunderji,'  said  I, 
uneasily,  'that  vina  is  enough  to  ruin  Orpheus. 
As  you  don't  care  for  my  money,  I'll  give  you 
another  instrument  instead.  I  have  one  inside 
which  is  easier  to  play,  and  more  your  style  in 
every  way.' 

So  I  brought  out  a  ravandstron,  such  as  pro- 
fessional beggars  use,  a  thing  with  two  strings  and 
a  gourd  covered  with  snake-skin.  To  my  surprise 
the  boy's  face  lost  its  impassive  melancholy  in 
palpable  anger. 

'  The  Presence  does  not  understand,'  he  said, 
quite  hotly.  'We  do  not  beg;  Seeta  and  I  fill 
ourselves  with  songs.  That  thing  whines  for 
money,  money,  money,  like  the  devil  who  made  it. 
Eather  would  I  live  by  this  than  by  mine  enemy.' 
And  as  he  spoke  he  struck  the  snake-skin  with 
his  supple  fingers  till  it  resounded  again.     '  Yea  ! 


KAMCHUXDER  JI  163 

thus  Avill  I  find  bread/  he  went  on,  '  but  the  vina 
must  find  a  home  first.  Therefore  I  came  to  the 
Presence,  hearing  that  he  collected  such  things. 
Perhaps  he  will  keep  it  in  exchange  for  one  rupee. 
It  is  worth  one  rupee,  surely.' 

His  wistful  look  as  he  handed  me  the  instru- 
ment made  me  feel  inclined  to  offer  a  hundred  : 
but  in  good  sooth  the  vina  was  worth  five,  and  I 
told  him  so,  adding,  as  I  looked  at  some  curious 
tracery  round  the  gourds,  that  it  appeared  to  be 
very  old  indeed. 

'  The  Presence  saith  truly  ;  it  is  very  old,' 
echoed  Eamchunderji  drearily.  '  That  is  why 
folk  will  not  listen.  It  is  too  old ;  too  old  to  be 
worth  money.' 

Xevertheless  he  cheered  up  at  the  sight  of  his 
rupee  ;  for  he  would  not  take  more,  saying  he  had 
ever}'  intention  of  returning  to  claim  the  vina  ere 
long,  and  that  five  rttpees  would  be  beyond  his 
hopes  of  gain. 

A  fortnight  after  I  came  home  from  my  early 
morning  ride   by  the  police   office,  which  stood 


164  EAMCHUNDERJI 

outside  the  native  town,  close  to  a  brick-stepped 
tank  shaded  by  ^^cejjz^/  trees,  my  object  being  to 
check  the  tally  of  poisonous  snakes  brought  in  for 
the  reward  given  by  Government  for  their  capture. 
The  first  time  I  saw  some  six  or  seven  hundred 
deadly  serpents  ranged  in  a  row  with  all  their 
heads  one  way,  and  all  their  unwinking  eyes 
apparently  fixed  on  me,  I  felt  queer,  and  the  fact 
of  their  being  dead  did  not  somehow  enter  into 
the  equation.  But  habit  inures  one,  and  I  walked 
along  the  thin  grey  fringe  of  certain  death  spread 
out  on  the  first  step  of  the  tank  with  an  air  of 
stolid  business,  only  stopping  before  an  unusually 
large  specimen  to  ask  the  captor,  who  sat  behind 
awaiting  his  pence,  where  he  had  come  across  it. 

'  Six  hundred  and  seventy  in  all,  Huzoor,' 
remarked  the  Deputy  Inspector  of  Police,  follow- 
ing me,  resplendent  in  silver  trappings  and  white 
cotton  gloves.  '  That  is  owing  to  the  floods,  and 
the  season,  since  this  is  the  sixth  of  Bliddron 
(August)  the  month  of  snakes.  Yet  the  outlay  is 
excessive  to  the  Government,  and  perhaps  with 


RAMCHUXDEK  JI  165 

justice  the  price  of  small  ones,  such  as  these, 
might  be  reduced  one-half.' 

I  looked  up,  and  behind  a  fringe  of  diminutive 
vipers  sat  Eamchunderji  and  the  bundle  he  called 
Seeta.  On  his  bare  right  arm  he  wore  a  much- 
betasselled  floss  silk  bracelet  bound  with  tinsel. 

'  I  am  glad  to  see  the  greed  is  in  your  heart 
again,'  said  I,  pointing  to  the  ornament. 

'  The  Edm-rucJvi  is  not  bought,  but  given,  as  in 
the  days  before  the  flood,'  replied  the  boy.  'Every 
one  wears  the  Edm-ruchi  still,  every  one  ! ' 

The  Deputy  Inspector  pulled  down  the  cuff  of 
his  uniform  hastily,  but  against  the  gleam  of  his 
white  gloves  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  bright  colours. 
The  Bdm-riicid,  he  explained  evasively,  was  the 
bracelet  of  luck  given  to  Efimchunderji  in  old 
days  before  his  search  for  Seeta,  and  common,  ill- 
educated  people  still  retained  the  superstitious 
custom  of  binding  one  on  the  wrist  of  each  male 
during  the  month  of  Bhddron.  There  was  so 
much  deplorable  ignorance  amongst  the  unedu- 
cated  classes,  and  did   the   Presence  look  with 


166  EAMCHUNDERJI 

favour  on  the  proposal  for  reducing  the  rewards  ? 
Perhaps  it  was  Eamchunderji's  eager,  wistful  face 
hinting  at  the  way  promises  were  kept  before  the 
flood,  which  made  me  reply  that  I  considered  no 
one  but  the  Viceroy  in  Council  had  power  to 
reduce  the  price  of  snakes. 

Several  times  after  this  I  found  the  odd  little 
couple  disposed  behind  their  tally  of  small  vipers ; 
then  the  season  of  serpents  ceased,  and  one  by 
one  the  habitues  of  the  tank  steps  dropped  off  to 
pursue  other  professions.  The  fringe  l^roke  into 
isolated  tassels,  and  finally  the  worn,  ruddy  steps 
lay  bare  of  all  save  the  flickering  light  and  shade 
of  the  leaves  above. 

November  had  chilled  the  welcome  cool  weather 
to  cold,  when  a  report  came  in  the  usual  course 
that  a  boy  calling  himself  Eamchunderji,  and  a 
girl  said  to  be  his  wife,  had  been  found  in  a 
jasmine  garden  outside  the  city,  half  dead  of 
exhaustion  and  without  any  ostensible  means  of 
livelihood.  They  had  been  taken  up  as  vagrants 
and  sent  to  hospital,  pending  Government  orders. 


RAMCHUXDERJI  167 

Xow  the  Jubilee  year  was  coming  to  a  close,  leav- 
ing behind  it  a  legacy  of  new  charities  throughout 
the  length  and  l^readth  of  India.  Of  some  the 
foundation  stone  only  had  been  laid  by  direct 
telegi^am  to  the  Queen  -  Empress ;  others  had 
sprung  to  life  in  a  manner  suggestive  of  workmen's 
tenements.  Among  the  latter  was  a  Female 
Boarding  School  and  Orphanage  for  the  children 
of  hic^h-caste  Hindus,  which  had  been  built  and 
endowed  by  a  number  of  rich  contractors  and 
usurers,  not  one  of  whom  would  have  sent  their 
daughters  to  it  for  all  their  hoarded  wealth. 
Persistent  pennies  had  attracted  a  creditable,  if 
intermittent,  supply  of  day-scholars  to  its  stucco 
walls :  but  despite  an  appropriate  inscription  in 
three  languages  over  the  gate,  the  orphanage 
remained  empty.  Money  can  do  much,  but  it 
cannot  produce  homeless  orphans  of  good  family 
in  a  society  where  the  patriarchal  system  lingers 
in  all  its  crass  disregard  of  the  main  chance.  So 
at  the  first  hint  of  Seeta  I  was  besieged  on  all 
sides.     A  real  live,  genuine,  Hindu  female  orphan 


168  EAMCHUNDEE  JI 

going  a  l3egging !  Preposterous !  Sacrilegious ! 
The  Chairman  of  the  Orphanage  Committee 
almost  wept  as  he  pictured  the  emptiness  of  those 
white  walls,  and  actually  shed  tears  over  the 
building  estimates  which  he  produced  in  order 
to  strengthen  his  claim  to  poor  little  Seeta. 
Was  it  fair,  he  asked,  that  such  a  total  of  muni- 
ficent charity  should  not  have  a  single  orphan 
k)  show  the  Commissioner-sa/a6  when  he  came 
on  tour  ?  His  distress  touched  me.  Then 
winter,  hard  on  the  poor  even  in  sunlit  India, 
was  on  us ;  besides,  Narayan  Das  tempted  me 
further,  with  suggestions  of  a  Jubilee  Scholar- 
ship at  the  district  school  for  Eamchunderji 
himself. 

I  broke  it  very  gently  to  the  boy  as  he  lay  on 
a  mat  in  the  sun,  slowly  absorbing  warmth  and 
nourishment.  He  was  too  weak  to  contest  the 
point,  but  I  felt  bad,  exceedingly,  when  I  saw 
him  turn  face  down  as  if  the  end  of  all  things 
was  upon  him.  I  knew  he  must  be  whispering 
confidences    to    Mother    Earth    respecting    that 


EAMCHUNDERJI  169 

happy  time  before   the  flood,  and  I  shmk  away 
as  though  I  had  been  whipped. 

Xow,  if  in  telling  this  veracious  history  I  seem 
too  intermittent,  I  can  but  offer  as  an  excuse  the 
fact  that  an  official's  work  in  India  is  like  that  of 
a  Jacquard  loom.  A  thread  slips  forward,  shows 
for  a  second,  and  disappears ;  a  pause,  and  there 
it  is  again.  Sometimes  not  until  the  pattern  is 
complete  is  it  possible  to  realise  that  the  series 
of  trivial  incidents  has  combined  to  weave  an 
indelible  record  on  the  warp  and  woof.  So  it 
was  early  January  before  the  Eamchunderji 
shuttle  stirred  again.  Xarayan  Das  came  to  me 
with  a  look  on  his  face  suggestive  that  neither 
the  Rig- Veda  nor  The  SiKctator  was  entirely  satis- 
factory. The  boy,  he  said,  was  not  a  bad  boy, 
though  he  seemed  absolutely  unable  to  learn ; 
but  his  influence  on  Standard  I.  was  strictly  non- 
regulation,  nor  did  any  section  of  the  Educational 
Code  apply  to  the  case.  If  I  would  come  down  at 
recess  tune,  I  could  see  and  judge  for  myself  what 
ought  to  be  done.     When  I   reached  the  play- 


170  RAMCHUNDERJI 

ground  the  bigger  boys  were  at  kriktdts  (cricket) 
or  gymnastics,  the  medium  ones  engaged  on  mar- 
bles, but  in  a  sunny  corner  backed  by  warm  brick 
walls  sat  Eamchunderji  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
Standard  I.  Small  as  he  was,  he  was  still  so 
much  larger  than  the  average  of  the  class,  that, 
as  he  leant  his  high  yellow  turban  against  the 
wall,  with  half-closed  eyes  and  hands  upon  his 
knees,  the  memory  of  Indra's  Court  came  back  to 
me  once  more.  He  was  reciting  something  in  a 
low  voice,  and  as  the  children  munched  popcorn 
or  sucked  sweeties  their  eyes  never  left  his  face. 

'  Look ! '  said  Narayan  Das  in  a  whisper  from 
our  spying-ground  behind  the  master's  window. 
The  song  came  to  an  end,  a  stir  circled  through 
the  audience,  and  one  by  one  the  solid  children 
of  the  fields,  and  the  slender,  sharp  little  imps  of 
the  bazaars,  rose  up  and  put  something  into  the 
singer's  lap.  A  few  grain's  of  corn,  a  scrap  of 
sweet  stuff,  and  as  they  did  so  each  said  in 
turn,  '  Salaam,  Eamchunderji ! '  'No  wonder 
the  boy  has   grown   fat,'   I  whispered,  dropping 


RAMCHUXDEE  JI  1  7 1 

the  reed  screen  round  which  I  had  been 
peeping. 

Narayan  Das  shook  his  head.  '  If  it  were  only 
comestibles/  he  replied  gravely,  '  I  could  arrange ; 
but  when  they  are  devoid  of  victuals  they  give 
their  slate-pencils,  their  ink-pots,  even  their  First- 
Lesson  books.  Then,  if  nobody  sees  and  stops, 
there  is  vacancy  when  such  things  are  applied  for. 
Thus  it  is  subversive  of  discipline,  and  parents 
object  to  pay.  Besides,  the  in -forma -jxtiqjeris 
pupils  come  on  contingent  with  great  expense  to 
Government.' 

I  looked  through  the  screen  again  with  a 
growing  respect  for  Eamchunderji.  '  Does  he  eat 
them  too  ? '  I  asked. 

The  head-master  smiled  the  sickly  smile  of  one 
who  is  not  quite  sure  if  his  superior  officer  intends 
a  joke,  and  fell  back  as  usual  on  quotation,  '  The 
ostrich  is  supposed  by  some  to  digest  nails,  but — ' 

I  laughed  aloud,  and  being  discovered,  went 
out  and  spoke  seriously  to  the  offender.  His 
calm  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed.     '  I  do  not 


172  RAMCHUXDERJI 

ask,  or  beg/  he  replied  ;  '  they  give  of  their  hearts 
and  their  abundance,  as  in  old  days  before  the 
flood.  Is  it  my  fault  if  they  possess  slate-pencils, 
and  ink-pots,  and  First-Lesson  books  ? ' 

I  must  confess  that  this  argument  seemed  to 
me  unanswerable,  but  I  advised  him,  seeing  that 
the  flood  had  come,  to  return  such  offerings  in 
future  to  the  store.  He  did  not  take  my  advice, 
and,  about  a  week  after,  being  discovered  selling 
these  things  to  the  bigger  boys  at  a  reduced  price, 
he  was  caned  by  the  head -master.  That  night 
he  disappeared  from  the  boarding-house  and  was 
no  more  seen.  His  name  was  removed  from  the 
rolls,  his  scholarship  forfeited  for  absence  without 
leave,  and  the  arrears  absorbed  in  refunds  for 
slate-pencils  and  ink-pots.  So  that  was  an  end 
of  Eamchunderji's  schooling,  and  Standard  I.  once 
more  became  amenable  to  the  Code. 

Winter  was  wanning  to  spring,  the  first  bronze 
vine  leaves  were  budding,  and  the  young  wheat 
shooting  to  silvery  ears,  before  the  Commissioner, 
coming  his  rounds,  was  taken  in  pomp  to  visit  the 


EAMCHUXDERJI  173 

Orphanage  and  its  occupants.  I  remember  it  so 
well.  Th^  Committee  and  the  Commissioner,  and 
I,  and  every  one  interested  in  female  orphans  and 
female  education,  on  one  side  of  a  red  baize  table 
decorated  with  posies  of  decayed  rosebuds  and 
jasmin  in  green-glass  tumblers ;  and  on  the  other 
Seeta  and  the  matron.  The  former,  to  enhance 
her  value  as  a  genuine  half-caste  waif,  was  still  a 
mere  bundle,  and  I  fancied  she  looked  smaller 
than  ever;  perhaps  because  the  veil  was  not  so 
large.  Then  the  accounts  were  passed,  and  the 
matron's  report  read.  Xothing,  she  said,  could  be 
more  satisfactory  than  the  general  behaviour  and 
moral  tone  of  the  inmates,  except  in  one  point. 
And  this  was  the  feeding  of  the  monkeys,  which, 
as  every  one  knew,  infested  the  town.  The  result 
being  that  the  hunder-log  had  become  bold  even  to 
the  dropping  down  of  stones  into  the  court — quite 
large  stones,  such  as  the  one  placed  as  a  stepping- 
stone  over  the  runnel  of  water  from  the  well. 

Here   I   unguardedly   suggested    an   air-gun; 
whereupon  Xarayan  Das,  who   always  attended 


174  RAMCHUNDERJI 

these  functions  as  an  educational  authority, 
reminded  me  reproachfully  that  monkeys  were 
sacred  to  the  god  Hunuman,  who,  if  I  remembered, 
had  finally  rescued  Seeta  from  the  ten -headed, 
many-armed  monster  Eavana,  the  inventor  of  the 
ravandstron  or  beggar's  fiddle. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  I  suddenly  became 
aware  that  the  Jacquard  loom  of  Fate  was  weaving 
a  pattern ;  Eamchunderji !  Seeta  1  the  exile  !  the 
killing  of  the  wild  beasts  !  the  ten-headed,  many- 
handed  monster  Eavana !  Yet  I  could  tell  you 
almost  every  word  of  the  Commissioner's  speech, 
though  he  prosed  on  for  the  next  ten  minutes 
complacently  about  the  pleasure  he  felt,  and  the 
authorities  felt,  and  the  whole  civilised  world  felt, 
at  seeing  '  Money,  the  great  curse  and  blessing  of 
humanity,  employed  as  it  should  be  employed 
in  snatching  the  female  orphan  of  India  from 
unmerited  misfortune,  and  educating  her  to  be 
an  example  to  the  nineteenth  century.'  Every 
one  was  highly  delighted,  and  the  Committee 
approached    me    with    a    view    of    adding    the 


IIAMCHUNDERJI  175 

Commissioner's  name  as  a  second  title  to  the 
school. 

But  I  awaited  the  completion  of  the  pattern. 
It  was  on  the  eleventh  of  April,  that  is  to  say,  on 
the  High  Festival  of  Spring,  at  the  fair  held  beside 
the  tank  w^here  humanity  in  thousands  was  w^ash- 
ing  away  the  old  year,  and  putting  on  the  new  in 
the  shape  of  gay-coloured  clothing,  that  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  small,  dense  crowd  whence 
came  hearty  guffaws  of  laughter. 

"Tis  a  performing  monkey,'  said  a  bearded 
villager  in  response  to  my  question  as  to  what 
was  amusing  them  so  hugely.  'The  boy  makes 
him  do  tricks  worthy  of  Hunuman ;  yet  he  saith 
he  taught  him  yonder  down  by  the  canal.  Will 
not  the  Protector  of  the  Poor  step  in  and  see  ? 
Ho,  ho !  'twould  make  a  suitor  laugh  even  if  the 
digri  (decree)  were  against  him.'  But  I  recognised 
the  pattern  this  time,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  interfere  with  the  shuttle  agam.  As  I 
turned  away,  another  roar  of  laughter  and  a 
general  feeling  in  pockets  and  turbans,  told  me 


176  EAMCHUNDERJI 

that  the  final  tip  had  succeeded,  and  that  collec- 
tion was  going  on  satisfactorily. 

A  few  days  later  the  Chairman  of  the  Committee 
came  to  me  in  excited  despair.  The  real,  genuine 
female  Hindu  orphan  was  not  to  be  found,  and 
the  stucco  walls  were  once  more  empty.  Inquiries 
were  made  on  all  sides,  but  when  it  came  out, 
casually,  that  a  boy,  a  girl,  and  a  monkey,  had 
taken  a  third-class  ticket  to  Benares  I  said  nothing. 
I  was  not  going  to  aid  Eavana,  or  prevent  the  due 
course  of  incarnation,  if  it  ivas  an  incarnation. 
That  great  city  of  men,  women,  and  monkeys 
should  give  the  trio  fair  play. 

Last  year,  when  I  was  in  Simla,  I  overheard  a 
traveller  giving  his  impressions  of  India  to  a  lady 
who  was  longing  all  the  time  to  find  out  from 
a  gentleman  with  a  moustache  wdien  the  polo- 
match  was  to  begin  at  Annandale  next  day. 

'The  performing  troupes  are  certainly  above 
the  European  average,'  he  said.  'At  Benares, 
especially,  I  remember  seeing  a  monkey ;  he,  his 
master,  and  a  girl,  did  quite  a  variety  of  scenes 


EAMCHUNDEEJI  177 

out  of  the  Eamayana,  and  really,  considering  who 
they  were,  I — ' 

'Excuse  me, — but — oh!  Captain  Smith,  is  it 
half-past  eleven  or  twelve  ? ' 

The  vina  still  hangs  in  my  collection  next  the 
ravandstron.  Sometimes  I  take  it  down  and  sound 
the  strings.  But  the  waving  palms,  the  odorous 
thickets,  and  the  shadowy,  immortal  forms  have  got 
mixed  up  somehow  with  that  infernal  humming 
and  bumming  of  the  four-anna  bit.  So  I  get  no 
help  in  trying  to  decide  the  question, — '  AYho  was 
Eamchunderji  ? ' 


VOL.  I  N 


V 

HEEEA   NUND 

He  stood  in  the  verandah,  salaaming  with  both 
hands,  in  each  of  which  he  held  a  bouquet — round- 
topped,  compressed,  prim  little  posies,  with  fat 
bundles  of  stalk  bound  spirally  with  date-fibre ; 
altogether  more  like  ninepins  than  bouquets,  for 
the  time  of  flowers  was  not  yet,  and  only  a  few  ill- 
conditioned  rosebuds,  suggestive  of  worms,  and  a 
dejected  clmm'pak  or  two,  showed  amongst  the  green. 
The  holder  w^as  hardly  more  decorative  than 
the  posies.  Bandy,  hairy  brown  legs,  with  toes 
set  wide  open  by  big  brass  rings, — a  sight  bring- 
ing discomfort  within  one's  own  slippers  from 
sheer  sympathy;  a  squat  body,  tightly  buttoned 
into  a  sleeveless  white  coat ;  a  face  of  mild 
ugliness  overshadowed  by  an  immaculately  white 


HEERA  NUND  179 

turban.     From  the  coral  and  Q;old  necklace  round 

o 

his  thick  throat,  and  the  crescent-shaped  ear-rings 
in  his  spreading  ears,  I  guessed  him  to  be  of  the 
Arain  caste.  He  was,  in  fact,  Heera  Xund, 
gardener  to  my  new  landlord ;  therefore,  for  the 
present,  my  servant.  Had  I  inquired  into  the 
matter,  I  should  probably  have  found  that  his 
forebears  had  cultivated  the  surroundino;  land  for 
centuries;  certainly  long  years  before  masterful 
men  from  the  West  had  jotted  down  their  trivial 
boundary  pillars  to  divide  Hght  from  darkness,  the 
black  man  from  the  white,  cantonments  from  the 
rest  of  God's  earth.  One  of  these  little  white 
pillars  stood  in  a  corner  of  my  garden,  and  be- 
yond it  lay  an  illimitable  stretch  of  bare  brown 
plain,  waiting  till  the  young  wheat  came  to  clothe 
its  nakedness. 

I  did  not  inquire,  however ;  few  people  do  in 
India.  Perhaps  they  are  intimidated  by  the  ex- 
treme antiquity  of  all  things,  and  dread  letting 
loose  the  floodgates  of  garrulous  memory.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  I  was  content  to  accept  the  fact 


180  HEERA  NUND 

that  Heera  Niind,  whether  representmg  ancestral 
proprietors  or  not,  had  come  to  congratulate  me, 
a  stranger,  on  having  taken,  not  only  the  house, 
but  the  garden  also.  The  sahibs,  he  said,  went 
home  so  often  nowadays  that  they  had  ceased  to 
care  for  gardens.  This  one  having  been  in  a  con- 
tractor's hands  for  years  had  become,  as  it  were,  a 
miserable  low-degree  native  place.  In  fact,  he 
had  found  it  necessary  to  steep  his  own  know- 
ledge in  oblivion  in  order  that  content  should 
grow  side  by  side  with  country  vegetables.  Yet 
he  had  not  forgotten  the  golden  age,  when,  under 
the  cGgis  of  some  judge  with  a  mysterious  name, 
he,  too,  Heera  iSTund  the  Arain,  had  raised  celery 
and  beetroot,  French  beans  and  artichokes,  aspa- 
ragus and  parsley.  He  reeled  off  the  English 
names  with  a  glibness  and  inaccuracy  in  which, 
somehow,  there  lurked  a  pathetic  dignity.  Then 
suddenly,  from  behind  a  favouring  pillar,  lie 
sprung  upon  me  the  usual  native  offering,  consist- 
ing of  a  flat  basket  decorated  with  a  few  coarse 
vec^etables.     A  bunch   of  rank-smelling   turnips, 


HEERA  XUND  181 

half-a-dozen  blue  radishes  ruiiiimg  two  to  the 
pound,  various  heaps  of  native  greens,  a  bit  off'  an 
overblown  cauliflower  proclamiing  its  bazaar 
origin  by  the  turmeric  powder  adhering  to  it  in 
patches,  a  leaf-cup  of  mint  ornamented  by  tw^o 
glowing  chillies.  He  laid  the  wiiole  at  my  feet 
with  a  profound  obeisance.  '  This  dust-like  offer- 
ing,' he  said  gravely, '  is  all  that  the  good  C4od 
{Kliuda)  can  give  to  the  saliib.  Let  the  Presence 
{HiLZOor)  wait  a  few  months  and  see  what  Heera 
Nund  can  do  for  him.' 

I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  ludicrous  solemnity 
of  voice  and  gesture,  or  the  simple  self-importance, 
overlaying  the  ugly  face  with  the  smile  of  a  cat 
licking  cream. 

I  did  not  see  him  again  for  some  days,  for 
accession  to  a  new  office  curtails  leisure.  When, 
however,  I  found  time  for  a  stroll  round  my  new 
domain  I  discovered  Heera  ISTund  hard  at  work. 
His  coatee  hung  on  a  bush ;  his  bare,  brown  back 
glistened  in  the  sunshine  as  he  stooped  down  to 
deepen  a  watercourse  with  his  adze-like  shovel. 


182  HEERA  NUND 

A  brake  of  sugar-cane,  red-brown  and  gold, 
showed  where  the  garden  proper  merged  into  the 
peasants'  land  beyond  ;  for  the  well,  whence  the 
water  came  that  flowed  round  Heera  Nund's 
hidden  feet  as  he  stood  in  the  runnel,  irrigated 
quite  a  large  stretch  of  the  fields  around  my  hold- 
ing. The  well-wheel  creaked  in  recurring  dis- 
cords, every  now  and  again  giving  out  a  note  or 
two  as  if  it  were  going  to  begin  a  tune.  The  red 
evening  sun  shone  through  the  mango-trees, 
where  the  green  parrots  hung  like  unripe  fruit. 
The  bullocks  circled  round  and  round  ;  the  water 
dripped  and  gurgled. 

'  How  about  the  seeds  I  sent  you  ? "  I  asked, 
when  Heera  Nund  drew  his  wet  feet  from  the 
stream,  and  composing  himself  for  the  effort,  pro- 
duced an  elaborate  salaam. 

He  left  humility  behind  him  as  he  stalked 
over  to  a  narrow  strip  of  ground  on  the  other  side 
of  the  well,  a  long  strip  portioned  out  into  squares 
and  circles  like  a  doll's  garden,  with  tiny  one- 
span  walks  between. 


HEERA  XUND  183 

'  Behold  1 '  he  said,  '  his  Honour  will  observe 
that  the  cabbao-e  caste  have  life  alreadv.' 

Truly  enough  the  half-covered  seeds  showed 
gussets  of  white  in  their  brown  jackets.  '  But 
where  are  the  tickets  ?  I  sent  word  specially 
that  you  were  to  be  sure  and  stick  the  labels  on 
each  bed.     How  am  I  to  know  which  is  which  ? ' 

'The  Presence  can  see  that  the  sticks  are 
there,'  he  answered  with  a  superior  smile ;  '  but 
there  are  others  beside  the  sahibs  who  love 
tickets.' 

He  pointed  to  the  tree  above  us,  where  on  a 
branch  sat  a  peculiarly  bushy-tailed  squirrel, 
as  happy  as  a  king  over  the  brussels-sprouts' 
wrapper,  which  he  was  crumpling  into  a  ball 
with  deft  hands  and  sharp  teeth.  How  I  came  to 
know  it  was  this  particular  wrapper  happened 
thus :  I  threw  my  cap  at  the  offender,  and  in  his 
flight  he  dropped  the  paper  on  my  bald  head ;  it 
was  hard,  and  had  points. 

'They  are  misbegotten  devils,'  remarked 
Heera  cheerfully;  'but   they  are  building  nests, 


184  HEERA  NUND 

saliih,  and  like  to  paper  the  inside.  Notwith- 
standing, the  Presence  need  fear  no  confusion ; 
his  slave  has  many  names  in  his  head.  This  is 
arly  ivalkrin  (Early  Walcheren),  that  is  droo7nade 
(Drumhead),  yonder  is  dookoyarJc  (Duke  of  York), 
and  that,  that,  and  that — '  He  would  have 
gone  on  interminably,  had  I  not  changed  the  sub- 
ject by  asking  what  was  growing  beneath  a  dila- 
pidated hand-light,  which  stood  next  to  a  sturdy 
crop  of  broad-cast  radishes.  Only  a  few  panes  of 
glass  remained  intact,  but  the  vacancies  had  been 
neatly  supplied  by  coarse  muslin.  The  gardener's 
face,  always  simple  in  expression,  became  quite 
homogeneous  with  pure  content. 

'  Hiizoor  !  It  is  the  mdlin  (female  gardener) ! ' 
*  The  mdlin  !  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? ' 
Have  you  ever  watched  the  face  of  a  general 
servant  when  she  takes  the  covers  off  the  Christ- 
mas dinner  ?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  very  young 
conjurer  lift  his  father's  hat  to  show  you  that  the 
handkerchief  (which  he  has  palpably  secreted 
elsewhere)  is  no  longer  in  its  legitimate  hiding- 


HEEKA  NUND  185 

place  ?  Something  of  that  mingled  triumph  and 
fear  lest  some  accident  may  have  befallen  skill 
in  the  interim  showed  itself  in  Heera  Xund's 
countenance  as  he  removed  the  light  with  a 
flourish,  thus  disclosing  to  view  a  fat  and  remark- 
ably black  baby  asleep  on  a  bed  of  leaves.  It 
was  attired  in  a  pah  of  silver  bangles,  and  a 
Maw's  feeding-bottle  grew,  like  some  new  kind  of 
root-crop,  from  the  ground  beside  it. 

'My  daughter,  Huzoor — httle  Dhropudi  the 
mdlin! 

His  voice  thrilled  even  my  bachelor  ears  as  he 
squatted  down  and  began  mechanically  to  fan  the 
swift-gathering  flies  from  the  sleeping  child. 

'  You  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  her,'  I  remarked 
after  a  pause.  '  It  is  only  a  girl  after  all.  Have 
you  no  son  ? ' 

He  shook  his  head. 

'  She  is  the  only  one,  and  I  waited  for  her  ten 
years.  Ten  long  years ;  so  I  was  glad  even  to  get 
a  mdlin.  Dhropudi  grows  as  fast  as  a  boy, 
almost   as  fast  as  the  Huzoor  s  cabbages.     Only 


186  HEERA  NUND 

the  other  day  she  was  no  bigger  than  my 
hand.' 

'  Your  wife  is  dead,  I  suppose  ? '  The  question 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  brutal,  but  it  was  so  unusual 
to  see  a  man  doing  dry  nurse  to  a  baby  girl,  that 
I  took  it  for  granted  that  the  mother  had  died 
months  before,  at  the  child's  birth.  I  never  saw 
a  face  change  more  rapidly  than  his ;  the  simpli- 
city left  it,  and  in  place  thereof  came  a  curious 
anxiety  such  as  a  child  might  show  with  the 
dawning  conviction  that  it  has  lost  itself. 

'  She  is  not  at  all  dead,  Huzoor ;  on  the  contrary 
she  is  very  young.  Children  cry  sometimes,  and 
my  house  does  not  like  crying.  You  see,  when 
people  are  young  they  require  more  sleep ;  when 
she  is  old  as  I  am  she  will  be  able  to  keep  awake.' 

His  tone  was  argumentative,  as  if  he  were 
reasoning  the  matter  out  for  his  own  edification. 
'  Not  that  Dhropudi  keeps  me  awake  often,'  he 
added,  in  hasty  apology  to  that  infant's  reputation ; 
'  considering  how  young  a  person  she  is,  her  ways 
are  very  straight-walking  and  meek.' 


HEERA  NUND  187 

'  If  she  cries  you  can  always  stop  her  with  the 
watering-pot,  I  suppose.' 

He  looked  shocked  at  the  suggestion. 

'  Huzoor  !  it  is  not  difficult  to  stop  them ;  such 
a  very  little  thing  pleases  a  baby.  Sometimes  it 
is  the  sunshine, — sometimes  it  is  the  wind  in  the 
trees, — sometimes  it  is  the  birds,  or  the  squirrels, 
or  the  flowers.  When  it  is  tired  of  these  there  is 
always  the  milk  in  its  stomach.  Dhropudi's  goat 
is  yonder ;  it  lives  on  your  Honour's  weeds.  You 
are  her  father  and  her  mother.' 

However  much  I  might  repudiate  the  relation- 
ship, I  soon  became  quite  accustomed  to  finding 
Dhropudi  in  the  most  unexpected  places  in  my 
garden.  For,  soon  after  my  first  introduction  to 
her,  the  claims  of  an  early  crop  of  lettuces  to 
protection  from  the  squirrels  led  Heera  Xund  to 
transfer  the  hand-Hght  from  one  of  his  charges 
to  another.  Dhropudi,  he  said,  could  grow  nicely 
without  it  now ;  the  black  ants  could  not  carry 
her  off,  and  the  squirrels  had  quite  begun  to 
recognise  that  she  w^as  of  the  race  of  Adam.     At 


188  HEERA  NUND 

first,  however,  he  took  precautions  against  mis- 
takes, and  many  a  time  I  have  seen  the  sleeping 
child  stuck  round  with  pea-sticks,  or  decorated 
with  fluttering  feathers  on  a  string,  to  scare  away 
the  birds.  Sometimes  she  was  blanching  with  the 
celery,  and  once  I  nearly  trod  on  her  as  she  lay 
among  the  toppings  in  a  thick  plantation  of 
blossoming  beans.  But  she  never  came  to  harm  ; 
the  only  misadventure  being  when  her  father 
would  lay  her  to  sleep  in  some  dry  water  channel, 
and,  forgetting  which  one  it  was,  turn  the  shallow 
stream  that  way.  Then  there  would  be  a  moment- 
ary outcry  at  the  cold  bath ;  but  the  next,  she 
would  be  pacified  with  a  flower,  and  sit  in  the  sun 
to  dry,  for  to  say  sooth,  no  more  good-tempered 
child  ever  existed  than  Dhropudi.  In  this,  at  any 
rate,  she  was  like  her  father,  though  I  could  trace 
no  resemblance  in  other  ways.  '  She  is  like  my 
house,'  he  would  say,  when  I  noticed  the  fact. 
'  She  is  young,  and  I  am  old, — quite  old.' 

Indeed,  as  time  passed  I  saw  that  Heera  Nund 
was   older  than  I    thought  at  first.     Before  the 


HEERA  NUND  189 

barber  came  in  the  morning  there  was  quite  a 
silver  stubble  on  his  bronze  cheek,  and  his  bright, 
restless  eyes  were  haggard  and  anxious.  Despite 
his  almost  comic  jauntiness  and  self-importance, 
he  struck  me  as  having  a  hunted  look  at  times, 
especially  when  he  came  out  from  the  mud- walled 
enclosure  at  the  further  end  of  the  garden,  where 
his  'house'  lived.  He  went  there  but  seldom, 
spending  his  days  in  tending  Dhropudi  and  his 
plants  with  an  almost  extravagant  devotion.  His 
state  of  mind  when  that  young  lady  used  her  new 
accomplishment  of  crawling,  to  the  detriment  of 
a  bed  of  sootvllians  (Sweet  Williams)  in  which  he 
took  special  pride,  was  quite  pathetic.  I  found 
him  simply  howling  between  regret  for  the  plants 
and  fear  lest  I  should  order  punishment  to  the 
ofiender.  His  gratitude  when  I  laughed  was 
unbounded. 

After  this  Dhropudi  used  to  be  set  in  a  twelve- 
inch  pot,  half  sunk  in  the  ground,  where  she  would 
stay  contentedly  for  hours,  drumming  the  sides 
with  a  carrot,  while  Heera  weeded  and  dibbled. 


190  HEERA  NUND 

'  She  grows/  he  would  say,  snatching  her  up 
fiercely  in  his  arms ;  '  she  grows  as  all  my  plants 
grow.  See  my  sootullians !  They  will  blossom 
soon,  and  then  all  the  saliihs  will  come  and  say, 
"  See  the  sootullians  which  Heera  Nund  and  Dhro- 
pudi  have  grow^n  for  the  Hazoorr ' 

Yet  with  all  this  blazoning  of  content  the  man 
was  curiously  restless— almost  like  a  child  in  his 
desire  for  action  and  vivid  interest  in  trivialities. 
'  See  the  misbegotten  creature  I  have  found  eating 
the  honourable  Huzoors  roots  ! '  he  would  say, 
casting  a  wire-worm  on  the  verandah  steps,  and 
dancing  on  it  vindictively.  '  It  was  in  the  Huzoors 
carnations,  but  by  the  blessing  of  God  and  Heera 
Nund's  vigilance  it  is  dead.  Nothing  escapes  me. 
Have  I  not  fought  wire -worms  since  the  begin- 
ning of  all  things,  I  and  my  fathers  ?  We  kill 
all  creeping,  crawling  things,  except  the  holy 
snake  that  brings  fruit  and  blossom  to  the  garden.' 

One  night  I  was  disturbed  by  unseemly  noises, 
coming  apparently  from  the  servants'  quarters ; 
but  my  remonstrances  next  morning  were  met,  by 


HEERA  NUND  191 

my  bearer,  with  swift  denial.  '  It  is  Heera.  He, 
poor  man,  has  to  beat  his  wife  ahnost  every  night 
now.  I  wonder  the  Presence  has  not  heard  her 
before  ;  she  screams  very  loud.' 

I  stood  aghast. 

'  He  should  let  her  go,  or  kill  her,'  continued 
the  bearer  placidly.  '  She  is  not  worth  the  trouble 
of  beating :  but  he  is  a  fool,  because  she  is  Dhro- 
pudi's  mother.  Yes,  he  is  a  fool ;  he  beats  her 
when  he  finds  her  lover  there.  He  should  beat 
her  well  before  the  man  comes.  That  is  the  best 
way  with  women.' 

It  was  an  old  story,  it  seemed,  dating  before 
Dhropudi's  appearance  on  the  scene.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  perhaps  a  deeper  tragedy  than  I  had 
thought  for  was  ripening  in  my  garden  among  the 
ripening  plants.  I  found  myself  watching  Dhro- 
pudi  and  her  father  with  an  almost  morbid  interest, 
and  hoping  that,  if  my  idle  suspicion  was  right, 
kindly  fate  might  hide  the  truth  away  for  ever 
in  the  bottom  of  that  well  where  Heera  often 
held  the  child  to  smile  at  her  own  reflection,  far 


192  HEERA  NUND 

down  where  the  water  showed  hke  a  huge 
round  dewdrop. 

So  time  went  on,  until  the  sootnllians  showed 
blossom  buds,  and  Dhropudi  cut  her  first  tooth  on 
one  and  the  same  day.  Perhaps  the  excitement 
of  the  double  event  was  too  much  for  Heera's 
nerves ;  perhaps  what  happened  was  due  anyhow  ; 
but  as  I  strolled  through  the  garden  that  evening 
at  sundown  I  saw  the  most  comically  pathetic 
sight  my  eyes  ever  beheld.  Heera  Nund,  clothed, 
but  not  in  his  right  mind,  was  dancing  a  can-can 
among  his  sootnllians,  while  Dhropudi  shrieked 
with  delight  and  beat  frantically  on  her  flower- 
pot. Even  with  the  knowledge  of  all  that  came 
after,  the  remembrance  provokes  a  smile.  The 
rhythmic  bobbing  up  and  down  of  the  uncouth 
figure,  the  cow-like  kicks  of  the  bandy  legs,  the 
preternaturally  grave  face  above,  the  crushed 
soottdliccns  below. 

I  sent  him  in  charge  of  two  sepoys  to  the 
Dispensary,  and  there  he  remained  for  two 
months,  more  or  less.     When  he  came  back  he 


HEERA  NUND  193 

was  very  quiet,  very  thin,  and  there  were  the 
marks  of  several  blisters  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
He  resumed  work  cheerfully,  with  many  apologies 
for  having  been  ill,  and  once  more  he  and  Dhro- 
pudi — who  had  been  handed  over  meantime, 
under  police  supervision,  to  her  mother — were  to 
be  found  spending  their  days  together  in  amicable 
companionship.  His  only  regrets  being,  appar- 
ently, that  the  sootullians  had  blossomed  and 
Dhropudi  learnt  to  walk  in  his  absence. 

But  for  one  or  two  little  eccentricities  I  might 
have  been  tempted  to  forget  that  can-can  among 
the  flowers ;  indeed,  I  always  met  his  inquiries  as 
to  the  sootullians  with  the  remark  that  they  had 
done  as  well  as  could  be  expected  in  the  circum- 
stances. The  eccentricities,  however,  if  few,  were 
striking.  One  was  his  exaggerated  gratitude  for 
the  blisters  on  the  back  of  his  head ;  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  one  would  have  thought  likely 
to  produce  an  outburst  of  that  Christian  virtue. 
But  it  did,  and  an  allusion  to  the  all  too  visible 

scars    invariably    crowned    the    frequent    recital 
VOL.  I  ■  0 


194  HEERA  NUND 

of  the  benefits  he  had  received  at  my  hands. 
Another  was  the  difficulty  he  had  in  distinguish- 
ing Dhropudi  from  the  other  fruits  of  his  labour. 
On  two  separate  occasions  she  formed  part  of  the 
daily  basket  of  vegetables  which  he  brought  in  to 
me,  and  very  quaint  the  little  black  morsel  looked 
sitting  surrounded  by  tomatoes  and  melons.  But 
though  he  treated  the  matter  as  an  elaborate  joke 
when  I  remarked  on  it,  there  was  a  dazed,  uncertain 
look  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  were  not  quite  sure  as  to 
the  right  end  of  the  stick. 

Nevertheless  peace  and  contentment  reigned 
apparently  in  his  house.  When  I  sat  out  in  the 
dark,  hot  evenings,  a  glow  of  flickering  firelight 
from  within  showed  the  mysterious  mnd-walled 
enclosure  by  the  wall,  decorous  and  conventional. 
The  winking  stars  looking  down  into  it  knew 
more  of  the  life  within  than  I  did,  but  at  any  rate 
no  unseemly  cries  disturbed  the  scented  night  air 
and  the  Huzoors  slumbers.  Perhaps  the  police 
supervision  had  impressed  the  lover  with  the 
dangers  of  lurking  house-trespass  by  night;  per- 


HEERA  NUND  195 

haps  the  dark-browed,  heavy -jowled  young  woman 
who  had  taken  my  warning  so  sullenly  had  learnt 
more  craft ;  perhaps  the  languor  which  creeps 
over  all  things  in  May  had  sucked  the  vigour 
even  from  passion.  Who  could  say?  Those 
crumbling  mud  walls  hid  it  all,  and  Heera  seemed 
to  have  begun  a  new  Hfe  with  the  hot -weather 
vegetables. 

So  matters  stood  when  an  old  enemy  laid  hold 
of  me.  Ten  days  after  I  found  myself  racing 
Death  with  a  determination  to  reach  the  sea,  and 
feel  the  salt  west  wind  on  my  face  before  he  and 
I  closed  with  each  other.  The  strange  hurry  and 
eagerness  of  it  all  come  back  to  some  of  us  like  a 
nightmare,  years  after  the  exile  is  over.  The 
doctor's  verdict,  the  swift  packing  of  a  trunk  or 
two,  the  hope,  the  fear,  the  mad  longing  at  least 
to  see  the  dear  faces  once  more. 

They  packed  me  and  a  half- hundred  pillows 
into  a  palki  ghdri  one  afternoon.  The  servants 
stood,  white  clad,  in  a  row  beside  the  white  pillars, 
dazzling  in  the  slanting  sunlight.     I  drove  through 


196  HEERA  NUND 

the  flower  garden  dusty  and  scorched.  At  the 
gate  stood  Heera  ISTund,  one  arm  occupied  by 
Dhropudi,  the  other  supporting  a  huge  basket  of 
vegetables.  He  looked  uncertain  which  to  present ; 
finally,  seeing  the  carriage  drive  on,  he  deliberately 
let  the  basket  fall,  and  running  to  my  side,  thrust 
the  child's  chubby  hands  forward.  They  held  just 
such  ninepin  bouquets  as  he  had  carried  on  our 
first  introduction.  '  Take  them,  saliih  ! '  he  cried. 
'  Take  them  for  luck  !  and  come  back  soon  to  the 
mail  and  the  mCdin!  As  the  glidri  turned  sharp 
down  the  road  I  saw  him  standing  amidst 
the  ruins  of  the  basket  with  Dhropudi  in  his 
arms. 

Six  months  passed  before  I  set  foot  on  Indian 
soil  again,  and  then  fate  and  a  restless  Govern- 
ment sent  me  to  a  new  station,  '\^^len  my  ser- 
vants arrived  with  my  baggage  from  the  old  one, 
I  naturally  fell  to  asking  questions.  'And  how 
is  Heera  ISTund  ? '  was  one.  My  bearer  smiled 
benignly.  '  Huzoor,  he  is  well, — in  the  month  of 
July  he  was  hanged.' 


HEEKA  NUND 


197 


'  Bearer ! ' 

'  Without  doubt :  it  was  in  the  month  of  July. 
He  killed  his  wife  with  an  axe.  Dhropudi  was 
bitten  by  a  snake  while  she  slept  one  day  when 
Heera  had  to  leave  her  with  her  mother;  and 
that  night  he  killed  his  wife  as  she  slept  also. 
It  was  a  mistake  to  be  so  revengeful,  for 
every  one  knew  Dhropudi  was  not  really  his 
daughter.' 

'  Do  you  think  that  Heera  knew  ? ' 

'She  told  him  when  the  child  died,  in  order 
to  stop  his  grief;  but  it  did  not.  She  was  very 
kind  to  him, — after  the  other  one  went  to  prison 
for  lurking  about.' 

'And  did  no  one  tell  about  it  all  ? ' 

*  About  what,  Huzoor  ? ' 

'  About  the  vegetables,  and  Dhropudi,  and  the 
sootullians,  and  the  blisters  on  the  back  of  his  head ! 
Did  no  one  say  the  man  was  mad  ? ' 

'  There  was  a  new  assistant  at  the  Dispensary, 
sahib,  and  her  people  were  very  rich ;  besides, 
Heera  was  not  mad  at  all.     He  did  it  on  purpose. 


198  HEERA  NUND 

He  was  a  bad  man,  and  the  Sirkar  did  right  to 
hang  him, — in  July.' 

But  as  I  turned  away  I  could  think  of  nothing 
but  that  can-can  among  the  sootullians,  with  little 
Dhropudi  beating  time  with  a  carrot. 


FEKOZA 

Two  hen  sparrows  quarrelling  over  a  feather, 
while  a  girl  watched  them  listlessly ;  for  the  rest, 
sunshine  imprisoned  by  blank  walls,  save  where  at 
one  end  a  row  of  scalloped  arches  gave  on  two 
shallow,  shadowy,  verandah -rooms,  and  at  the 
other  a  low  doorway  led  to  the  world  beyond.  But 
even  this  was  veiled  by  a  brick  screen,  forced  by 
the  light  into  unison  with  the  brick  building  be- 
hind. The  girl  sat  with  her  back  against  the  wall, 
her  knees  drawn  up  to  her  chin,  and  her  little,  bare, 
brown  feet  moulding  themselves  in  the  warm,  sun- 
steeped  dust  of  the  courtyard.  In  the  hands 
clasped  round  her  green  trousers  she  held  an  un- 
opened letter  from  which  the  London  post-mark 
stared  up  into  the  brazen  Indian  sky.     She  was 


200  FEROZA 

waiting  to  have  it  read  to  her — waiting  with  a  dnll, 
ahnost  sullen  patience,  for  the  afternoon  was  still 
young.  It  was  old  enough,  however,  to  make  a 
sheeted  figure  in  the  shadow  sit  up  on  its 
string  bed  and  yawn  because  siesta  time  was 
past. 

'  Still  thinking  of  thy  letter,  Feroz  ?  Bismillali  I 
I'm  glad  my  man  doesn't  live  in  a  country  where 
the  women  go  about  half  naked.' 

*  "Who  told  thee  so,  Kareem  ?  The  Meer  sahib 
said  naught.' 

A  light  laugh  seemed  prisoned  in  the  echoing 
walls.  '  Wah  !  How  canst  tell  ?  'Tis  father-in- 
law  reads  thy  letters.  Inaiyut  saith  so.  He  saw 
them  at  Delhi  dancing  like  bad  ones  with — ' 

'  Peace,  Kareema  !     Hast  no  decency  ? ' 

'  Enough  for  my  years,  whilst  thou  art  more 
like  a  grandam  than  a  scarce-wed  girl.  Why 
should  not  Inaiyut  be  a  man  ?  A  husband  is  none 
the  worse  for  knowing  a  pretty  woman  when  he 
sees  one.' 

She  settled  the  veil  on  her  sleek  l^lack  head  and 


FEROZA  201 

laughed  again.  Feroza  Begum's  small  brown  face 
hardened  mto  scorn.  '  Inaiyut  hath  experience 
and  practice  in  the  art  doubtless,  as  he  hath  in 
cock-fightmg  and  dicmg.' 

'  Now,  don't  gibe  at  him  for  that.  Sure  'tis  the 
younger  son's  portion  amongst  us  jMoguls.  Do  I 
sneer  at  thy  Meer  amusing  himself  over  the  black 
water  amongst  the  merns  ? ' 

'•The  Meer  is  not  amusing  himself.  He  is 
learning  to  be  a  barrister.' 

Kareema  swung  her  legs  to  the  ground  witli  an- 
other giggle.  '  Wall !  Men  are  men  all  the  world 
over,  and  so  are  women.  Yea  I  'tis  true.'  She 
looked  like  some  gay  butterfly  as  she  flashed  out 
into  the  sunlight,  and  began  with  outstretched 
arms  and  floating  veil  to  imitate  the  sidelong  graces 
of  a  dancing  giii. 

'  Hai !  Hai !  Bad  one  ! '  cried  a  quavering 
voice  behind  her,  as  an  old  woman  clutching  for 
scant  covering  at  a  dirty  white  sheet  shambled 
forward.  '  Can  I  not  close  an  eye  but  thou  must 
bring  iniquity  to  respectable  houses  ?     'Tis  all  thy 


202  FEROZA 

scapegrace  husband;  for  when  I  brought  thee 
hither  thou  wast  meek-spirited  and — ' 

'Deck  me  not  out  with  lies,  nurse/  laughed 
Kareema.  '  Sure  I  was  ever  to  behaviour  as  a 
babe  to  walking — unsteady  on  its  legs.  So  wast 
thou  as  a  bride ;  so  are  all  women.'  She  seized  the 
withered  old  arms  as  she  spoke,  and  threw  them 
up  in  an  attitude.  '  Dance,  Mytaben !  dance ! 
'Tis  the  best  way.' 

The  forced  frown  faded  hopelessly  before  the 
young,  dimpling  face.  '  Kareema  !  Why  will'st 
not  be  decent  like  little  Feroz  yonder  ? ' 

'  Why  ?  Because  my  man  thinks  I'm  pretty  ! 
Because  I've  fine  clothes  1  Feroza  hath  old  green 
trousers  and  her  man  is  learning  to  be  "  ivise^'  for- 
sooth !  amongst  the  mems.     So  she  is  jealous — ' 

'  I'm  not  jealous,'  interrupted  the  other  hotly. 

'  Peace,  peace,  little  doves ! '  expostulated  the 
old  nurse.  '  Feroz  is  no  fool  to  be  jealous  of  a  mem. 
Holy  Prophet,  Kareem !  hadst  thou  seen  them  at 
Delhi  as  I  have — ' 

'  Inaiyut  hath  seen  them  too.    He  saith  they  are 


FEKOZA  203 

as  houris  in  silks  and  satins  with  bare  breasts  and 
arms — ' 

Mytaben's  bony  fingers  crackled  in  a  shake  of 
horrified  denial.  '  Silence  !  shameless  one  I  I  tell 
thee  they  have  no  beauty,  no  clothes — ' 

'  There  I  I  said  they  had  no  clothes/  pouted 
Kareema. 

The  duenna  folded  her  sheet  round  her  with 
great  dignity.  '  Thy  wit  is  sharp,  Kareem  !  'Tis 
as  well ;  for  thou  wilt  need  it  to  protect  thy  nose  ! 
The  mems  have  many  clothes ;  God  knows  how 
many,  or  how  they  bear  them  when  even  the  skin 
He  gives  is  too  hot.  They  are  sad-coloured,  these 
mems,  with  green  spectacles  serving  as  veils.  Not 
that  they  need  them,  for  they  are  virtuous  and 
keep  then*  eyes  from  men  truck.  Not  like  bad 
bold  hussies  who  dance — ' 

"Tis  not  true,'  cried  Kareema  shrilly.  'Thou 
sayest  it  to  please  Feroza.  Inaiyut  holds  they  are 
Jiouris  for  beauty,  and  he  knows.' 

In  the  wrangle  which  ensued  the  London  post- 
mark revolved  between  earth  and  heaven  as  the 


204  FEROZA 

letter  turned  over  and  over  in  Feroza's  listless 
fingers. 

'I  wish  I  knew/  she  muttered  with  a  frown 
puckering  her  forehead.  '  He  saith  they  are  so 
wise,  and  yet — ' 

Mytaben  paused  in  the  war  of  words  and  laid 
her  wrinkled  old  fingers  on  the  girl's  head. 
'  Plague  on  new-fangled  ways ! '  she  grumbled 
half  to  herself.  '  Have  no  fear,  heart's  life  !  they 
are  uncomely.  But  for  all  that,  'tis  a  shame  of 
the  Meer  to  leave  thee  pining.' 

A  hand  was  on  her  mouth.  '  Hush,  Mytaben  ! 
Tis  a  wife's  duty  to  wait  her  lord's  pleasure  to 
stay  or  come.' 

There  is  a  dignity  in  submission,  but  Kareema 
laughed  again,  and  even  old  Mytab  looked  at  the 
girl  compassionately.  Tor  all  that,  heart's  life, 
'tis  well  to  be  sure.  Certainty  soothes  the  liver 
more  than  hope.  So  thou  shalt  see  a  mem.  For 
lo !  the  book-readers  have  come  to  this  town, 
and  one  passeth  the  door  every  eve  at  sun- 
down,' 


FEROZA  205 

'  Oh,  Mytab !  why  didn't  you  tell  us  before  ? ' 
cried  both  the  girls  in  a  breath. 

'  Because  'tis  enough  as  it  is,  to  keep  two 
married  girls  straight,  with  never  a  mother-in-law 
to  make  them  dance  to  her  tune/  grumbled  the 
nurse  evasively.  *  Hai,  Kareema  !  I  will  tell  thy 
father-in-law  the  Moulvie,^  and  then  'twill  be 
bread  and  water.' 

'  Bread  and  water  is  not  good  for  brides,'  re- 
torted Kareema  with  a  giggle.  '  And  I  will  see  the 
mems  too,  or  I  will  cry,  and  then — '  She  nodded 
her  head  maliciously. 

That  evening  at  sundown  the  two  girls  sat 
huddled  up  by  the  latticed  window^  of  the  outer 
vestibule,  while  Mytab  watched  at  the  door  of  the 
men's  court  which,  with  that  of  the  women's 
apartments,  opened  into  this  shadowy  entrance. 
By  putting  their  eyes  close  to  the  fret-work  they 
could  see  up  and  down  a  narrow  alley  where  a 
central  drain,  full  of  black  sewage,  usurped  the 
larger  half  of  the  rough  brick  pavement. 

^  A  Mohammedan  preacher. 


206  FEROZA 

'  Look,  Feroza !  look  ! '  cried  Kareema  in  a 
choked  voice.  A  white  umbrella  lined  with  green, 
a  huge  pith  hat  tied  round  with  a  blue  veil,  a 
gingham  dress,  a  bag  of  books,  white  stockings,  and 
tan  shoes, — that  was  all.  They  watched  the 
strange  apparition  breathlessly  till  it  came  abreast 
of  them.  Then  Kareema's  pent-up  mirth  burst 
forth  in  peals  of  laughter  so  distinctly  audible 
through  the  open  lattice  that  the  cause  stopped  in 
surprise. 

Feroza  started  to  her  feet.  'For  shame, 
Kareem,  for  shame !  He  says  they  are  so  good.' 
And  before  they  guessed  what  she  would  be  at, 
the  wicket-gate  was  open,  and  she  was  on  the 
bare,  indecent  doorstep. 

'  Salaam  !  mem  sahib,  salaam  ! '  rang  her  high- 
pitched,  girlish  voice.  '  I,  Feroza  Begum  of  the 
house  of  Meer  Ahmed  Ali,  barrister-at-law,  am 
glad  to  see  you.' 

Before  Kareema,  by  hanging  on  to  Mytab's 
scanty  attire,  lent  weight  enough  to  drag  the 
offender  back  to  seclusion,  the  English  lady  raised 


FEROZA  207 

her  veil,  and  Feroza  Begum,  MoguK,  caught  her 
first  glimpse  of  a  pair  of  mild  blue  eyes.  She 
never  forgot  the  introduction  to  Miss  Julia  Smith, 
spinster  of  Clapham.  Perhaps  she  had  reason  to 
remember  it. 

'  I  might  have  believed  it  of  Kareem,'  whim- 
pered the  duenna  over  a  consolatory  pipe,  'but 
Feroz !  To  stand  out  in  the  world  yelling  like 
a  hawker.  Ai,  Ail  Give  me  your  quiet  ones 
for  wickedness.  Phut  !  in  a  moment,  like  water 
from  the  skin-bag,  spoiling  everything.' 

'  'Twas  Kareem's  laugh  burst  the  maslik,  nursie,' 
laughed  Feroza.  She  and  her  sister-in-law  seemed 
to  have  changed  places  for  the  time,  and  she 
was  flitting  about  gay  as  a  wren,  while  the 
former  sulked  moodily  on  her  bed. 

Yet  as  the  days  passed  a  new  jealousy  came 
like  seven  devils  to  possess  poor  Feroza  utterly. 
Wliat  was  this  wisdom  which  inspired  so  many 
well-turned  periods  in  the  Meer's  somewhat  prosy 
letters  ?  Beauty  was  beyond  her,  but  women 
even  of  her  race  had  been  wise ;  passionate  Nurje- 


208  FEPtOZA 

han,  and  even  pious  Fatma, — God  forgive  her  for 
evening  her  chances  with  that  saintly  woman's ! 
The  thought  led  to  such  earnest  study  of  the 
Koran  that  old  Mytab's  wrath  was  mollified  into 
a  hope  of  permanent  penitence.  And  all  the 
time  the  girl's  heart  was  singing  p?eans  of  praise 
over  the  ease  with  which  she  remembered  the 
long  strings  of  meaningless  words.  Buoyed  up  by 
hope  she  confided  her  heart's  desire  to  Kareema. 

'Eat  more  butter  and  grow  fat/  replied  that 
little  coquette.  '  Dress  in  bright  colours  and 
redden  thy  lips.  And  thou  mightst  use  that 
powder  the  mems  have  to  make  their  skins  fair. 
Inaiyut  saith  he  will  buy  me  some  in  the  bazaar. 
That  is  true  wisdom ;  the  other  is  for  wrinkles.' 

Despite  this  cold  water,  the  very  next  London 
post-mark  brought  matters  to  a  crisis. 

'  Is  that  all  ? '  asked  Feroza  dismally,  when 
her  father-in-law,  the  Moulvie,  had  duly  intoned 
her  husband's  letter.  '  It  looks,  oh !  it  looks 
ever  so  much  more  on  paper.' 

The  old  Mohammedan  stared  through  his  big 


FEKOZA  209 

horn-riinmed  spectacles  at  her   reluctant   finger 
feeling  its  way  along  the  crabbed  writing. 

'  Quite  enough  for  a  good  wife,  daaghter-in- 
law/  he  replied.  '  Bring  my  pipe,  and  thank  God 
he  is  well.' 

As  she  sat  fanning  the  old  man  duteously,  her 
mind  was  full  of  suspicion.  Could  she  have  com- 
pressed the  desire  and  love  of  her  heart  into  a 
few  well-turned  sentences  ?  Ah !  if  she  could 
only  learn  to  read  for  herself.  The  thought 
found  utterance  in  a  tentative  remark  that  it 
would  save  theMoulvie  trouble  if  she  were  a  scholar. 

"Tis  not  much  trouble,'  said  the  old  man 
courteously ;  '  the  letters  are  not  long.' 

The  effect  of  these  words  surprised  him  into 

taking  off  his  spectacles,  as  if  this  new  departure 

of  quiet  Feroza's  could  be  better   seen   by   the 

naked  eye. 

'  So  thou  thinkest  to  learn  all  the  Meer  has 

learnt?'  he  asked  scornfully,  when  her  eloquence 

abated.     '  Wah    illali !     AMiat  ?      Euclidus    and 

Algebra,  Political  Economy  and  Justinian  V 
VOL.  I  p 


210  FEROZA 

The  desire  of  the  girl's  heart  was  not  this,  but 
jealousy  and  shame  combined  prevented  her  de- 
claring the  real  standard  of  her  aims,  so  she 
replied  defiantly,  '  Why  not  ?  I  can  learn  the 
Koran  fast, — oh,  ever  so  fast.' 

It  was  an  unfortunate  speech,  since  it  brought 
down  on  her  the  inevitable  reply  that  such  know- 
ledge was  enough  for  those  who,  at  best,  must 
enter  Paradise  at  a  man's  coat-tails.  Driven  into 
a  corner  she  felt  the  hopelessness  of  the  struggle, 
until,  flushed  by  success,  the  Moulvie  forgot 
caution,  and  declaimed  against  his  son's  stupidity 
in  desiring  more. 

Feroza.  seized  on  this  slip  swiftly.  If  it  was  as 
she  feared,  if  her  husband's  wishes  w^ere  kept 
from  her  ignorance,  she  must,  she  would  learn. 
If  she  could  not  go  to  school,  the  mems  would 
come  and  teach  her  at  home.  They  did  such 
work  at  Delhi ;  why  not  here  ?  As  for  the 
Moulvie's  determination  that  no  singing  should 
be  heard  in  his  house,  that  was  a  righteous  wish, 
and  she  would  tell  the  mems  not  to  sing  their 


FEROZA  211 

hymns.  Indeed,  such  a  question  seemed  all  too 
trivial  for  comparison  with  her  future  happiness. 
Therefore  her  disappointment  when  Mytaben 
brought  back  a  peremptory  refusal  from  the 
mission-ladies  to  teach  on  such  condition  was 
very  keen.  Her  piteous,  surprised  tears  roused 
Kareema's  scornful  wonder. 

'  I  can't  think  why  thou  shouldst  weep ;  it 
tliickens  the  nose,  and  thine  is  over-broad  as  it  is. 
Inaiyut  offered  once  to  teach  me,  but  when  I 
asked  him  if  learning  would  make  him  love  me 
better,  he  kissed  me  with  a  laugh.  So  I  let  it 
alone.' 

'  Thou  dost  not  understand,'  sobbed  Feroza ; 
'  no  one  does.  The  Meer  is  wise,  and  I  am 
different.' 

'  Wall!  Thou  art  but  a  woman  at  best,  and 
life  is  over  for  us  with  the  first  wrinkle,  no 
matter  what  we  learn.  Ah,  Feroz  !  let's  enjoy 
youth  whilst  we  have  it.  See !  I  have  a  rare  bit 
of  fun  for  thee  if  thou  wilt  not  blab  to  Mytaben. 
Promise ! ' 


212  FEROZA 

Three  days  afterwards  Feroza,  escaping  from 
the  turmoil  of  a  great  marriage  in  a  relative's 
house,  found  herself,  much  to  her  own  surprise 
and  bewilderment,  forming  one  of  a  merry  party 
of  young  women  disguised  in  boys'  clothes,  and 
bound  for  an  hour  or  so  of  high  jinks  in  one  of 
the  walled  orange  gardens  which  lay  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  quarter.  The  idea,  which  had  at  first 
filled  her  with  dismay,  had  next  grown  tempting, 
and  then  become  irresistible  with  Kareema's  art- 
ful suggestion  that  it  would  give  occasion  for  a 
personal  interview  with  the  mission-ladies  who 
had  taken  up  theii-  abode  close  by.  So  she  had 
allowed  her  doubts  and  fears  to  be  allayed ; 
though  inwardly  she  failed  to  see  the  vast  differ- 
ence on  which  her  sister-in-law  insisted,  between 
the  iniquity  of  standing  on  doorsteps  in  the  full 
light  of  day,  and  sneaking  out  at  night  on  the 
quiet. 

'  Yerily,'  said  Kareema  in  a  pet,  '  thou  art  a 
real  noodle,  Feroz  !  I  tell  thee  all  the  good-style 
women  do  thus,  and  my  sister  will  be  there  with 


FEROZA  213 

her  boys.  IVah  !  were  it  not  for  my  handsome 
Inaiyut,  I  should  die  in  this  dull  old  house  where 
folk  wish  to  be  better  than  God  made  them.' 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  while  Miss  Julia  Smith, 
spinster  of  Clapham,  sat  with  her  fellow-workers 
in  the  verandah  resting  after  their  labours,  a 
boyish  figure  with  a  beating  heart  was  creepmg 
towards  her  as  the  goal  of  every  hope. 

The  English  mail  was  in ;  an  event  which 
by  accentuating  the  severance  from  home  ties  is 
apt  to  raise  the  enthusiasm  of  the  mission-house 
beyond  normal. 

'  How  very,  very  interesting  it  is  about  the 
young  man  Ahmed  Ali,'  remarked  Julia  in  a 
voice  tuned  to  superlatives.  '  Dearest  Mrs.  Crans- 
ton WTites  that  he  spoke  so  sweetly  about  his 
ignorant  child -wife.  As  she  says,  there  is  some- 
thing so, — so, — so  comforting,  you  know,  in  the 
thought  of  work  coming  to  us,  as  if, — well,  I  can't 
quite  express  it,  you  know, — but  from  our  own 
homes, — from  dear,  dear,  old  England  ! ' 

There   was  a  large  amount  of  confused  good 


214  FEROZA 

feeling  in  Julia  Smith.  A  kindly  soul  she  was, 
if  a  little  over  sentimental.  Perhaps  a  broken 
sixpence,  stored  side  by  side  with  a  decayed  vege- 
table in  her  desk,  formed  a  creditable  explanation 
of  the  latter  weakness.  Such  things  account  for 
much  in  the  lives  of  most  women. 

'  I  suppose,'  she  continued,  '  we  were  right  to 
refuse  without  hymns ;  but  I  shall  never  forget 
the  sweet  child's  face  as  she  popped  from  her 
prison.  I  am  making  up  the  incident  for  our 
magazine ;  it  will  be  most  touching.  But  now 
that  dearest  Mrs.  Cranston  has  written,  it  seems 
like  the  finger  of  Providence — ' 

'  A  boy  wanting  a  Miss,'  interrupted  the  nonde- 
script familiar,  inseparable  from  philanthropy  in 
India.  '  The  one  with  an  umbrella,  a  big  hat,  and 
a  bag  of  books.' 

.  A  very  womanly  laugh  with  an  undercurrent 
of  militant  pleasure,  ran  round  the  company.  The 
description  fitted  one  and  all,  and  they  were  proud 
of  the  fact. 

The  moon  shone  briajht  behind  the  arches,  the 


FEROZA  215 

scent  of  orange  blossoms  drifted  over  the  high 
garden  wall,  and  every  now  and  again  a  burst  of 
laughter  close  at  hand  overbore  the  more  distant 
noise  of  wedding  drums  and  pipes. 

'  What  do  you  want,  my  son  ? ' 

The  soft  voice  with  its  strange  inflections  took 
away  the  last  vestige  of  Feroza's  courage.  She 
stood  dizzy  with  absolute  fear,  her  tongue  cleaving 
to  her  mouth.  A  repetition  of  the  question  roused 
her  to  the  memory  that  here  lay  her  one  chance. 
She  gave  a  despairing  glance  into  the  gloom  in 
search  of  those  pale  blue  eyes;  then,  suddenly, 
inheritance  broke  through  her  terror.  She  flung 
her  hands  up  to  heaven,  and  her  young  voice  rose 
in  the  traditional  cry  for  justice.    'Dohai  !  Boliai  F 

'We  do  not  keep  justice  here,'  was  the  soft 
answer.  '  You  must  go  to  the  Courts  for  that. 
We  are  but  women — ' 

*  And  I  too  am  a  woman  !  Listen  1 '  The  words 
which  had  lagged  a  moment  before  now  crowded 
to  her  lips,  and  as  she  stepped  closer  her  raised 
arm  commanded  attention.     '  You  have  taken  my 


216  FEROZA 

husband  and  left  me  ;  and  I  will  not  be  left !  You 
gave  him  scholarships  and  prizes,  tempting  him 
away ;  and  when  I  also  ask  for  learning,  you  say, 
"  You  must  sing."  What  is  singing  when  I  am  sad  ? 
Surely  God  will  hear  my  tears  and  not  your  songs  ! ' 

Her  passion  swayed  her  so  that  but  for  Julia 
Smith's  supporting  arm  she  would  have  fallen. 
'  I  don't  understand,'  said  the  Englishwoman 
kindly.     '  What  have  we  done  ?     Who  are  you  ? ' 

'  I  am  the  wife  of  Meer  Ahmed  Ali,  barrister- 
at-law,  and  I  want  to  be  taught  Euclidus,  and- 
Justinian,  and  the, — the  other  things.  You  shall 
not  take  him  away  for  always.  Justice !  I  say, 
justice ! ' 

'  My  dears  !  My  dears  ! '  cried  Julia  Smith, 
'  didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  the  finger  of  Providence — ' 

Half-an-hour  afterwards  little  Feroza,  flying 
back  to  rejoin  her  companions,  felt  as  if  Paradise 
had  been  opened  to  her  by  a  promise.  But  if 
Paradise  was  ajar,  the  orange  garden  was  closed, 
the  gate  locked,  the  key  gone.  She  peered  through 
the  bars,  hoping  it  was  a  practical  joke  to  alarm 


FEEOZA  217 

her.  All  was  still  and  silent  save  for  the  creak  of 
the  well-wheel  and  a  soft  rustle  from  the  burnished 
leaves  where  the  moonlight  glistened  white. 

'  Kareem  !  let  me  in  1  for  pity  sake  let  me  in  1 ' 

Then  a  wild,  uncontrollable  fear  at  finding  her- 
self alone  in  an  unknown  world  claimed  her  body 
and  soul,  and  she  fled  like  a  hare  to  the  only  refuge 
she  knew.  The  mems  must  protect  her ;  for  were 
they  not  the  cause  of  her  venturing  forth  at  all  ? 
But  for  them,  or  their  like,  would  she  not  have 
been  well  content  at  home  ?     Yea  1  well  content. 

The  verandah  was  empty,  and  from  within  came 
a  monotonous  voice.  She  peered  into  the  dimly- 
lit  room  to  see  a  circle  of  kneeling  figures,  and 
hear  her  own  name  welded  into  the  even  flow  of 
prayer.  God  and  his  Holy  Prophet !  They  were 
praying  that  she  might  become  apostate  from  the 
faith  of  her  fathers  !  Tales  of  girls  seized  and 
baptized  against  their  will  leapt  to  her  memory. 
She  covered  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  horrid 
sight  and  fled  :  whither  she  neither  knew  nor  cared. 

'  Hai !    have  I  found  thee  at  last,  graceless  ! 


218  FEROZA 

scandalous  ! '  scolded  some  one  into  whose  arms 
she  ran  at  full  tilt. 

'  Mytab  !  0  dear  Mytab  ! '  she  cried,  clinging 
frantically  to  the  familiar  figure.  '  Take  me  home, 
oh,  please  take  me  home  !  I  will  never  go  out  again, 
no,  never ! ' 

That  was  the  determination  of  ignorance. 
Eighteen  months  after  wisdom  had  altered  it  and 
many  other  things,  for  during  that  time  Julia 
Smith  had  sung  hymns  on  the  doorstep  three  days 
a  week.  Sometimes  she  had  quite  a  large  audience, 
and  sometimes  Feroza  herself  would  listen  at  the 
lattice.  On  these  occasions  the  thin  voice  had  a 
ring  in  it ;  for,  despite  the  fact  that  her  pupil  was 
taught  all  the  truths  of  religion  in  prose  and 
monotone,  poor  Julia  used  to  wonder  if  this  relegat- 
ing of  hymns  to  the  doorstep  was  not  a  bowing  in 
the  house  of  Eimmon ;  nay,  worse,  a  neglect  of 
grace,  for  she  loved  her  pupil  dearly.  Not  one, 
but  two  pair  of  eyes  glistened  over  the  surprise  in 
preparation  for  the  absent  husband.  Wherefore  a 
surprise  no  one  knew,  but  surprise  it  was  to  hQ. 


FEROZA  219 

Feroza  said  the  idea  originated  in  her  teacher's 
sentimental  brain ;  if  so,  it  took  root  quickly  in 
the  girl's  passionate  heart.  Thus,  beyond  the  fact 
of  her  learning  to  read  and  write,  the  Meer  knew 
nothing  of  the  change  wisdom  was  working  in  his 
wife.  And  meanwhile  time  brought  other  changes 
to  the  quiet  courtyard.  Handsome,  dissipated 
Inaiyut  died  of  cholera,  and  over  him,  and  the 
boy- baby  she  lost,  Kareema  shed  tears  which  did 
not  dim  her  beauty.  Three  months  after  she  was 
once  more  making  the  bare  walls  ring  with  her 
inconsequent  laughter.  She  jeered  at  Feroza's 
diligence  with  increased  scorn.  No  man,  she  said, 
was  worth  the  losing  of  looks  in  books,  and  if  the 
Meer  really  spoke  of  return,  a  course  of  cosmetics 
would  be  more  advisable. 

Even  Julia  shook  her  head  over  Feroza's  thin 
face.  '  You  work  too  hard,  dear,'  she  sighed. 
'  Ah  !  if  it  were  the  one  thing  needful ;  but  I  have 
failed  to  teach  you  that.' 

'  Dear  Miss !  don't  look  sad ;  think  of  the 
difference  you  have  wrought.     Oh,  do  not  cry,'  she 


220  FEROZA 

went  on  passionately,  for  the  mild  blue  eyes  were 
filling  with  tears.  '  Come,  we  will  talk  of  his 
return,  full  of  noble  resolutions  of  self-sacrifice  to 
find — 0  dear,  dear  Miss!  I  am  so  happy,  so 
dreadfully  happy ! '  As  she  buried  her  face  in 
the  gingham  dress  her  voice  sank  to  a  murmur  of 
pure  content.  But  some  unkind  person  had 
poisoned  Julia's  peace  with  remarks  of  the  mixing 
of  unknown  chemicals.  After  all,  what  did  she 
know  of  this  absent  husband,  save  that  dear  Mrs. 
Cranston  had  met  him  at  a  conversazione  ? 

*  I  suppose  the  Meer  is  really  an  enlightened 
man  ? '  she  asked  dubiously. 

The  gingham  dress  gave  up  a  scared  face. 
'  Dear  Miss  !  why,  he  is  a  barrister-at-law  ! ' 

Her  teacher  coughed.  '  But  are  you  sure,  dear, 
that  he  wanted  you  to  learn  ? ' 

'  Not  everything ;  because  he  did  not  think  I 
could  ;  but  he  spoke  of  many  things.  I  have 
learnt  all, — except — ' 

'  Except  what  ? ' 

Feroza  hesitated.     '  I  was  not  sure, — Inaiyut 


FEROZA  221 

said  he  would  teach  it,  but  he  died —  'Tis  only 
a  game  called  whist.' 

'Whist!' 

'  Do  I  not  say  it  right  ?  W-h-i-s-t — loist.  Oh, 
Miss  !  is  it  a  wicked  game  ?  Is  it  not  fit  ?  Ought 
I  not  to  learn  it  ? ' 

The  fire  of  questions  reduced  Julia  Smith's 
confusion  to  simple  tears.  '  I  don't  know,'  she 
moaned, '  that  is  the  worst !  I  thought  it  was  the 
finger  of  Providence,  and, — ah,  Feroza  !  If  I  have 
done  you  harm  1 ' 

'  You  have  done  me  no  harm,'  said  Feroza,  with 
a  kind  smile.  '  You  have  harmed  yourself  with 
cinnamon  tea  and  greasy  fritters  in  the  other 
zenanas,  and  you  shall  have  some,  English  fashion, 
to  take  away  your  headache.' 

So  grumbling  Mytab  brought  an  afternoon  tea- 
tray  duly  supplied  with  a  plate  of  thin  bread-and- 
butter  from  within,  and  Feroza's  small  brown  face 
beamed  over  Julia  Smith's  surprise.  'He  will 
think  himself  back  amongst  the  menis!  Won't 
he  ? '  she  asked  with  a  happy  laugh. 


222  FEROZA 

WduIcI  he  ?  As  she  jolted  home  in  her 
palanquin  Julia's  head  whirled.  Old  and  new ! 
Ignorance  and  wisdom  !  Here  was  a  jumble.  A 
stronger  brain  than  hers  might  well  have  felt  con- 
fusion. For  it  was  sunset  in  that  heathen  town, 
and  from  the  housetops,  in  the  courtyards,  in  the 
very  streets,  men  paused  to  lay  aside  their 
trivial  selves  and  worship  an  ideal.  Not  one 
of  the  crowd  giving  place  to  the  mission -lady, 
but  had  in  some  way  or  another,  if  only  by  a 
perfunctory  performance  of  some  rite,  testified 
that  day  to  the  fact  that  religion  formed  a  part 
of  his  daily  round,  his  common  task.  And  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world,  whence  the  missions 
come  ? — 

Meanwhile  Kareema  bewailing  the  useless  cards, 
found  herself  backed  up  by  old  Mytaben.  Such 
knowledge,  the  old  woman  said,  would  have  been 
more  useful  than  learning  to  be  cleaner  than  God 
made  you.  'Twas  easy  to  sneer  at  henna-dyed 
hands ;  but  was  that  worse  than  using  scented 
soaps  like  a  bad  one,  and  living  luxurious  ?    Sheets 


FEROZA  223 

and  towels  forsooth  1  Why,  Shah-jehan  himself 
never  dreamed  of  such  expenses. 

'  I  like  them,  for  all  that,'  cried  Kareema  gaily ; 
'  and  I  think  the  mcms  are  wise  to  have  big  looking- 
glasses.  It  is  hateful  only  seeing  a  little  bit  of 
one's  self  at  a  time.  And  Feroza  and  I  are  going 
out  to  be  admired  like  the  mems,  aren't  we,  Feroza?' 

'  If  the  Meer  wishes  it,'  replied  her  sister-in- 
law  gravely. 

Mytab  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  '  Have  a 
care,  players  with  fire  ! '  she  said  shrilly.  '  Have 
a  care !  Is  the  world  changed  because  it  reads 
books  and  washes  ?  Lo !  the  customs  of  the 
fathers  bind  the  children.' 

'  Mytab  hath  been  mysterious  of  late,'  remarked 
Kareema,  giving  a  queer  look,  as  the  old  lady 
moved  away  in  wrath.  '  All  me  !  if  I  had  but  my 
handsome  Inaiyut  dicing  in  the  vestibule  'twould 
be  better  for  all  of  us,  maybe.' 

Feroza  laid  her  soft  hand  gently  on  the  other's 
shoulder.  '  I  am  so  sorry  for  thee,  dear  !  but  we 
will  love  thee  always  and  be  a  sister  and  brother — ' 


224  FEROZA 

Kareema's  look  was  queerer  than  ever,  and  she 
laughed  hysterically. 

The  day  came  at  last  when  Feroza  sat  in  the 
sunlit  courtyard  holding  another  unopened  letter 
in  her  hand,  knowing  that  ere  a  week  was  over 
the  writer  would  be  prisoned  in  her  kind  arms, 
surrounded  by  friendly  faces,  caught  in  the  meshes 
of  familiar  custom.  She  was  not  afraid,  even 
though  his  letters  gave  her  small  clue  to  the  man 
himself.  Her  own  convictions  were  strong  enough 
to  supply  him  with  opinions  also,  and  even  if  she 
did  not  come  up  to  his  ideal  at  first,  she  felt  that 
the  sweet  satisfaction  of  a  return  to  home  and 
kindred  would  count  for,  and  not  against  her. 
So  she  sat  idly  delaying  to  read,  and  dreaming 
over  the  past,  much  as  she  had  dreamt  over  the 
future  nearly  tw^o  years  before.  Only  she  sat  on 
a  chair  now,  and  her  white  stockings  and  patent- 
leather  shoes  twisted  themselves  tortuously  about 
its  legs.  She  thought  mostly  of  the  childish  time 
when  she,  their  cousin,  had  played  with  Ahmed 
Ali  and  Inaiyut ;  it  seemed  somehow  nearer  than 


FEROZA  225 

those  other  days,  when  the  studious  lad's  departure 
for  college  had  been  prefaced  by  that  strange 
unreal  marriage. 

And  Kareema  watched  her  furtively  from  the 
far  corner  where  she  and  Mytab  were  making 
preserves. 

Suddenly  a  loud  call,  fiercely  imperative,  made 
them  come  sheepishly  forward  to  where  Feroza 
stood  at  bay,  one  hand  at  her  throat,  the  other 
crushing  her  husband's  letter.  '  What  is  this  ? 
What  have  you  all  been  keeping  from  me  ?  What 
does  he  mean  ? — this  talk  of  duty  and  custom. 
Ah-h-h— !' 

Her  voice,  steady  till  then,  broke  into  a  ringing 

cry  as  a   trivial   detail   in   Kareema's   reluctant 

figure  caught  her  eye.     The  palms  and  nails  of 

those  delicate  hands  were  no  longer  stained  with 

henna.     They  were  as  her  own,  as  nature  made 

t 
them,  as  the  Meer  sahib  said  he  liked  them  !     She 

seized  both  wTists  fiercely,  turning  the  accusing 

palms  to  heaven,  while  a  tempest  of  sheer  animal 

jealousy  beat  the  wretched  girl  down  from  each 

VOL.  I  Q 


226  FEROZA 

new-won  foothold,  down,  down,  to  the  mherited 
nature  underneath. 

'  Then  it  is  true,'  she  gasped.  '  I  see  !  I  know ! 
Holy  Prophet !  what  infamy  to  talk  of  duty.  He 
is  to  marry, — and  I  who  have  slaved — He  is  mine, 
mine,  I  say !     Thou  shalt  not  have  him  ! ' 

Mytab's  chill  old  hand  fell  on  the  girl's  straining 
arm  like  the  touch  of  Death.  'Allah  akhbdr  tua 
Mohammed  rasul !  ^  Hast  forgotten  the  faith, 
Feroza  Begum,  Moguli  {  Thine  ?  Since  when 
has  the  wife  a  right  to  claim  all  ?  Since  when 
hast  thou  become  a  memV 

The  girl  glared  at  her  with  wild  passion,  and 
Kareema  gave  a  whimper  as  the  grip  bit  into  her 
tender  wrists.     '  Don't ;  you  hurt  me  ! ' 

Feroza  flung  them  from  her  in  contemptuous 
loathing.  '  Fool !  coward !  as  if  he  would  touch 
you.  I  will  tell  him  all.  He  will  know —  Ah 
God  !  my  head  !  my  head  ! — '  She  was  in  the  dust 
at  their  feet  stunned  by  her  own  passion. 

^  '  God  Almighty  and  his  prophet  Mohammed  ' ;  a  brief  con- 
fession of  faith. 


FEROZA  227 

'  I  warned  the  Moulvie  to  break  it  by  degrees/ 
grumbled  Mytab,  dragging  the  girl  to  some 
matting ;  '  but  he  said  'twould  make  no  more  to 
her  than  to  the  Meer.  Books  don't  seem  to  change 
a  man,  but  women  are  different.' 

'  It's  not  my  fault/  whimpered  Kareema.  '  I 
don't  want  to  marry  the  Meer;  he  was  ever  a 
noodle.     Prating  of  its  being  a  duty,  forsooth  ! ' 

'  So  it  is  !  a  bounden  duty.  Never  hath  child- 
less widow  had  to  leave  this  house,  and  never 
shall,  till  God  makes  us  pigs  of  unbelievers.' 

'  I  wish  my  handsome  Inaiyut  had  lived  for  all 
that,'  muttered  the  girl,  as  Feroza  showed  signs  of 
recovery.  She  resisted  all  attempts  at  explanation 
or  comfort,  however,  and  made  her  way  alone,  a 
solitary  resolute  figure,  to  her  windowless  room, 
where,  when  she  shut  the  door,  all  was  dark. 
There  she  lay  tearless  while  the  others,  sitting  in 
the  sunlight,  talked  in  whispers  as  if  the  dead 
were  within. 

'  The  Moulvie  must  bid  her  repeat  the  creed,' 
was  old  My  tab's  ultimatum.     '  God  send  the  Miss 


228  FEROZA 

has  not  made  a  Christian  of  her,  with  all  those 
soapings  and  washings ! '  She  had  no  spark  of 
pity.  Such  was  woman's  lot,  and  to  rebel  was 
sacrilege. 

'Don't  make  sure  of  my  consent,'  pouted 
Kareema,  her  pretty  face  swollen  with  easy  tears. 
'  If  he  is  really  the  noodle  Feroza  deems,  I'd  rather 
be  a  religious.     'Twould  be  just  as  amusing.' 

Mytab  laughed  derisively.  '  Thou  a  religious ! 
The  gossips  would  have  tired  tongues.  Besides, 
choice  is  over.  Had  the  child  lived,  perhaps ;  but 
now  the  Moulvie  hath  a  right  to  see  Inaiyut's 
children  on  his  knee.' 

The  sunshine  had  given  place  to  shadow  before 
Feroza  appeared. 

'  Bring  me  a  hurka ;  ^  I  am  going  to  see  the 
Miss.  Follow  if  thou  wilt,'  she  said ;  and  though 
her  voice  had  lost  its  ring,  the  tone  warned  Mytab 
to  raise  no  objection.  Ere  she  left  the  sheltering 
walls  she  stood  a  moment  before  her  sister-in-law, 
all  the  character,  and  grief,  and  passion  blotted 

^  The  veil  worn  by  secluded  women. 


FEROZA  229 

out  by  the  formless  white  domino  she  wore.  '  I 
could  kill  you"  for  being  pretty,'  she  said,  in  a  hard 
whisper  as  she  turned  away. 

She  had  never  been  to  the  mission-house  since 
that  eventful  nig^ht,  and  the  sic^ht  of  its  familiar 
unfamiliarity  renewed  the  sense  of  injury  with 
which  she  had  last  seen  it.  Miss  '  Eshsmitt  sahib,' 
they  told  her,  was  ill :  but  she  would  take  no 
denial,  and  so,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Feroza 
entered  an  English  lady's  bedroom.  Simple,  almost 
poor  as  this  one  was  in  its  appointments,  the  sight 
sent  a  throb  of  fear  to  the  girl's  heart.  What ! 
Was  not  Kareema's  beauty  odds  enough,  that  she 
must  fight  also  against  this  undreamed-of  comfort  ? 
She  flung  up  her  arms  with  the  old  cry,  '  Dohai  ! 
Dohai  I '  The  fever-flushed  face  on  the  frilled 
pillows  turned  fearfully.  '  What  is  it,  Feroza  ? 
Oh  !  what  is  it  ? ' 

The  question  was  hard  to  solve  even  in  the 
calm  sessions  of  thought,  well-nigh  impossible 
here.  Wliy  had  she  been  lured  from  the  old  life 
in  some  ways  and  not  in  all  ?     Was  their  boasted 


230  FEROZA 

influence  all  words  ?  Then  why  had  they 
prated  of  higher  things  ?  Why  had  they  lied  to 
her  ? 

Poor  Julia  buried  her  face  in  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief drenched  in  eau-de-Cologne,  and  sobbed, 
'  Ah,  take  her  away  !     Please  take  her  away  ! ' 

So  they  led  her  gently  to  the  text-hung  drawing- 
room  with  a  cottage  piano  in  one  corner,  and  shook 
their  heads  over  her  passionate  appeals.  They 
could  do  nothing,  they  said, — nothing  at  all, — 
unless  she  cast  in  her  lot  with  them  absolutely ; 
so  she  turned  and  left  them  with  a  sombre  fire  in 
her  eyes. 

She  never  knew  how  the  days  passed  until,  as 
she  watched  the  sunlight  creep  up  the  eastern  wall 
of  the  court,  it  came  home  to  her  that  on  the  next 
evening  Meer  Ahmed  Ali  w^ould  watch  it  also. 
She  seemed  not  to  have  thought,  and  it  was 
Kareema,  and  not  she,  who  had  shed  tears.  On 
that  last  night  the  latter  came  to  where  her 
cousin  lay  still,  but  sleepless.  '  Why  wilt  be  so 
foolish,  Feroza  ? '  she  said  petulantly.     '  Nothing 


FEROZA  231 

is  settled.  If  he  is  a  noodle,  I  will  none  of  him, 
I  tell  thee.  If  not,  thou  art  too  much  of  one 
thyself  to  care.  God  knows  he  may  not  look  at 
either,  through  beino;  enamoured  of  the  mems. 
And  oh,  Feroza,'  she  added,  her  sympathy  over- 
borne by  curiosity,  '  think  you  he  will  wear  the 
strange  dress  of  the  Miss  sahib's  sun-pictures  ?  If 
so  I  shall  laugh  of  a  surety.' 

A  gleam  of  consolation  shot  through  poor 
Feroza's  brain.  Men  disliked  ridicule.  '  Of 
course  the  Meer  dresses  Europe  -  fashion,'  she 
replied  stiffly.  '  Thou  seemest  to  forget  that  my 
husband  is  a  man  of  culture.' 

A  man  of  culture !  undoubtedly,  if  by  culture 
we  mean  dutiful  self  -  improvement.  That  had 
been  Meer  Ahmed  All's  occupation  for  years,  and 
his  gentle,  high-bred  face  bore  unmistakably  the 
look  of  one  stowing  away  knowledge  for  future 
use.  He  was  really  an  excellent  young  man; 
and,  during  his  three  years  at  a  boarding-house  in 
Netting  Hill,  had  behaved  himself  as  few  young 
men  do  when  first  turned  loose  in  London.     He 


232  FEROZA 

spoke  English  perfectly,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say  what  he  had  not  learnt  that  could  be  learnt 
by  an  adaptive  nature  in  the  space  of  thirty-six 
calendar  months  spent  in  diligent  polishing  of  the 
surface  of  things.  He  learnt,  for  instance,  that 
people  looking  at  his  handsome,  intelligent  face, 
said  it  made  them  sad  to  think  of  his  being  married 
as  a  boy  to  a  girl  he  did  not  love.  Thence  the 
idea  that  he  was  a  martyr  took  root  and  flourished, 
and  he  acquiesced  proudly  in  his  own  sacrifice  on 
the  altar  of  progress.  For  him  the  love  of  the 
poets  was  not,  and  even  in  his  desire  for  Feroza's 
education  he  told  himself  that  he  was  more 
actuated  by  a  sense  of  duty  than  by  any  hope 
of  greater  happiness  for  himself  The  natural 
suggestion  that  he  should  marry  his  brother's 
widow  he  looked  on  merely  as  a  further  develop- 
ment of  previous  bondage;  and  he  told  himself 
again  that,  not  having  swerved  a  hair's-breadth 
from  his  faith,  he  was  bound  to  set  his  own  views 
aside  in  favour  of  a  custom  desired  by  those  chiefiy 
concerned.    Besides,  in  the  atmosphere  of  surprised 


FEKOZA  233 

sympathy  in  which  he  lived  it  was  hard,  indeed, 
not  to  pose  as  a  victim. 

And  so,  just  as  poor  Feroza  was  confidently 
asserting  his  culture,  he,  having  given  his  English 
fellow-passengers  the  slip,  was  once  more  putting 
on  the  clothes  of  an  orthodox  Mohammedan. 
Feroza,  on  the  other  hand,  had  adopted  the  dress 
of  the  advanced  Indian  lady,  which,  with  surpris- 
ingly little  change,  manages  to  destroy  all  the 
grace  of  the  original  costume.  The  lack  of  braided 
hair  and  clustering  jewels  degrades  the  veil 
to  an  unnecessary  wrap ;  the  propriety  of  the 
bodice  intensifies  its  shapelessness :  the  very  face 
suffers  by  the  unconcealed  holes  in  ears  and 
nose. 

Kareema  stared  with  a  smile  akin  to  tears. 
*  There  is  time,'  she  pleaded.  '  Come  !  I  can  make 
you  look  twice  as  well.' 

Their  eyes  met  with  something  of  the  old 
affection,  but  Feroza  shook  her  head.  '  I  must 
find  out — ' 

'  If  he  is  a  noodle  ? '     The  interrupting  giggle 


234  FEROZA 

was  almost  a  whimper.  'You  mean  if  he  is 
blind  !     Ah,  Feroza  !  look  at  me.' 

No  need  to  say  that;  the  puzzled  eyes  had 
taken  in  the  sight  already.  Gleams  of  jewelled 
hair  under  the  gold  -  threaded  veil ;  a  figure 
revealed  by  the  net  bodice  worn  over  a  scantier 
one  of  flowered  muslin :  bare  feet  tucked  away 
in  shells  of  shoes ;  long  gauze  draperies  showing 
a  shadow  of  silk-clad  limbs ;  above  it  all  that 
dimpling,  smiling  face.  She  shook  her  head 
again. 

In  the  louCT  minutes  of  waitinsj  she  lost  herself 
in  counting  the  bricks  on  the  familiar  wall  until 
the  si2[ht  of  a  tall  man  at  the  door  dressed  as  a 
Mohammedan  startled  her  into  drawing  the  veil 
to  her  face  in  fear  of  intrusion. 

As  the  man  withdrew  quickly  Kareema's  laugh 
rang  out.  '  To  think,  Feroza  !  thou  shouldest  be 
^purdah  to  him  after  all  thy  big  talk.' 

'The  Meer!  Was  that  the  Meer?'  faltered 
Feroza.     'I- did  not, — the  dress — ' 

'  Bah !      I    knew    the    likeness    to    my    poor 


FEROZA  235 

Inaiynt.  See !  yonder  he  comes  again  ushered 
by  father-in-law.     Xow,  quick,  Feroza  ! ' 

The  voice  quavering  over  the  prepared  phrases 
of  thanks  to  the  Great  Giver  of  home-coming  was 
infinitely  pathetic  ;  and  yet,  as  Ahmed  Ali  took 
the  outstretched  hand,  he  was  conscious  above 
all  things  of  a  regret,  almost  a  sense  of  out- 
rage; for  the  bondage  of  custom  was  upon  him 
already.  Kareema,  catching  his  look,  came  for- 
ward with  ready  tact.  'We  welcome  my  lord,' 
she  said  in  the  rounded  tone  of  ceremony,  'as 
one  who,  having  travelled  far,  returns  to  those 
who  have  naught  worthy  his  acceptance  save 
the  memory  of  kinship.  My  sister  and  I  greet 
you,  €18  sisters.  Nay,  more,'  she  added  lightly; 
'  I  too  shake  hands  English-fashion,  and  if  I  do 
it  wrong  forgive  us  both,  since  learned  Feroza  is 
teacher.' 

'  You  make  me  very  happy,'  answered  the  Meer 
heartily.     '  How  well  you  are  all  looking ! ' 

No  need  to  say  where  his  eyes  were. 

'  You    mistake,   Meer    sahib!   cried    Kareema 


236  FEROZA 

swiftly,  '  Feroza  looks  ill.  'Tis  your  blame,  since 
she  worked  over-hard  to  please  you.' 

The  forbidden  frown  came  too  late  to  prevent 
Ahmed  All's  glance  finding  it  on  his  wife's  face. 
It  was  not  becoming.  '  Was  it  so  hard  to  learn  ? ' 
he  asked  with  a  patronising  smile.  '  But  your 
handwriting  improved  immensely  of  late.' 

The  tips  of  Feroza's  fingers  showed  bloodless 
under  their  nervous  clasp,  but  she  said  nothing. 
Indeed,  she  scarcely  opened  her  lips  as  they  sat 
talking  over  the  morning  meal.  Even  when  the 
Meer  refused  tea  and  toast  in  favour  of  chupatties 
and  Jcoftas  ^  it  was  Kareema  who  supplied  surprise. 
Feroza  was  all  eyes  and  ears,  and  not  till  the  sun 
tipping  over  the  high  walls  glared  down  on  them 
did  she  lose  patience  enough  to  ask,  vaguely,  what 
he  thought  about  it  all. 

'  Wah  illah,'  cried  the  Moulvie,  'Feroza  hits 
the  mark  !  What  thinkest  thou,  my  son  ?  But 
I  fear  not,  for  thou  hast  the  faithful  air,  and  canst 
doubtless  repeat  thy  creed  purely.' 

^  Unleavened  cakes  and  mince-meat  balls. 


FEROZA  237 

The  young  man  looked  round  the  familiar  scene, 
every  detail  of  which  fitted  so  closely  to  memory 
that  no  room  remained  for  the  seven  years'  absence. 
A  rush  of  glad  recognition  surged  to  heart  and 
brain,  making  him  stand  up  and  give  the  Kalma} 

'  I  am  content,  0  my  father ! '  he  cried  in 
ringing  tones,  as  the  sonorous  echoes  died  away 
to  silence.  '  I  am  content  to  come  back  to  the  old 
life,  to  the  old  duties.' 

'The  sun  makes  my  head  ache,'  said  Feroza, 
rising  abruptly  ;  '  I  will  go  into  the  dark  and  rest.' 

'  Don't  go,  Feroza !  Thou  hast  not  told  the 
Meer  about  thyself,'  pleaded  Kareema,  rising  in 
her  turn.  '  She  hath  worked  so  hard,'  she  added 
petulantly  to  the  young  man.  '  No  one  is  worth 
it,  no  one.' 

The  Meer  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  '  Learn- 
ing is  hard  for  women,'  he  began.  Then  some- 
thing in  his  wife's  face  roused  the  new  man  in 
him,  making  him  say  in  a  totally  different  tone 
and  manner,  '  I  am  afraid  I  hardly  understand.' 

1  The  Creed. 


238  FEROZA 

'  That  is  what  Kareema  says  of  me/  replied 
Feroza  icily. 

Her  cousin,  as  she  sat  down  once  more  to  listen, 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  *  And  she  counted  her- 
self as  something  better  than  a  woman,'  was  her 
inward  comment  amid  her  smiles. 

Feroza  saw  nothing  of  her  husband  for  the  rest 
of  the  day.  The  men's  court  was  crowded  with 
visitors,  and  she  herself  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
many  feminine  congratufations.  Only  at  sunset, 
before  starting  to  attend  a  feast  given  in  his 
honour,  he  found  time  for  live  minutes'  speech 
with  her ;  but,  almost  to  her  relief,  he  was  far  too 
content,  far  too  excited  by  his  own  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  distinguish  any  other  feeling  in  her  mind. 
Yet  a  momentary  hesitation  on  his  part  as  he  was 
leaving  made  her  heart  bound,  and  a  distinct  pause 
brought  her  to  his  side  with  wistful  eyes,  only  to 
see  Kareema  nodding  and  smiling  to  him  from  the 
roof,  whither  she  had  gone  for  fresher  air.  '  What 
is  it  ? '  he  asked  kindly,  though  his  looks  were 
elsewJiere. 


FEKOZA  239 

'Nothing,'  she  answered,  'nothing  at  all.  Go 
in  peace ! ' 

The  moon,  rising  ere  the  sun  set,  stole  the  twi- 
light. So  she  sat  gazing  at  the  hard  square  out- 
lines of  the  walls  till  far  on  into  the  night,  her 
mind  filled  with  but  one  thought.  The  thought 
that  by  and  by  Ahmed  Ali,  flushed  with  content 
at  things  which  she  had  taught  herself  for  his  sake 
to  despise,  would  come  home  to  her — to  his  wife. 
The  little  room  she  had  travestied  into  a  pitiful 
caricature  of  foreign  fashions  seemed  to  mock  her 
foolish  hopes,  so  she  crept  away  to  the  lattice 
whence  she  had  had  her  first  glimpse  of  wisdom. 
Even  on  that  iDiilliant  night  the  vestibule  itself 
was  dark ;  but  through  the  door  she  could  see  the 
empty  arcades  of  the  men's  court  surrounding  the 
well  where  she  and  her  cousins  used  to  play. 

A  rustle  in  the  alley  made  her  peer  through 
the  fret-work,  for  the  veriest  trifle  swayed  her ; 
but  it  was  only  a  dog  seeking  garbage  in  the  gutter. 
Then  a  door  creaked  and  she  started,  wondering 
if  Ahmed  Ali  could  be  home  already.     Silence 


240  FEROZA 

brought  her  a  dim  suspicion  that,  but  for  this 
wisdom  of  hers,  she  might  have  waited  his  return 
cahnly  enough.  Footsteps  now  !  She  cowered  to 
the  shadow  at  the  sight  of  Kareema  followed  by 
Mytab  bearing  something. 

'  He  mayn't  be  back  till  late,'  came  the  familiar 
giggle ;  '  and  a  soft  pillow  will  please  him.' 

The  pair  were  back  again  before  she  recovered 
her  surprise,  and  Kareema  paused  ere  re-entering 
the  women's  door.  '  Poor  Feroza  !  She  will  get 
accustomed  to  it,  I  suppose.' 

'  Of  what  hath  she  to  complain  ? '  retorted  the 
old  voice ;  '  he  is  a  properer  man  than  I  deemed. 
Say,  heart's  desire,  what  said  he  when  I  saw 
thee—?' 

'  Mytab  !  thou  mean  spy  !  Bah  !  he  told  me 
he  would  change  a  letter  and  call  me  Carina,  since 
it  meant  dearest  in  some  heathen  tongue.  They 
begin  thus  over  the  black  water  likely:  'tis  not 
bad,  and  new  at  any  rate.' 

Feroza  scarcely  waited  for  distance  to  deaden 
the  answering  giggle.     She  was  on  her  feet,  pacing 


FEROZA  241 

to  and  fro  like  a  mad  creature.  Ah  !  to  get  away 
from  it  all — from  that  name,  from  the  look  he 
must  have  given — to  get  something  cold  and  still 
to  quench  the  raging  fire  in  her  veins  !  Suddenly, 
without  a  waver,  she  walked  to  the  well  and  leant 
over  its  low  parapet.  Her  hands  sought  the  cool 
damp  stones,  her  eyes  rested  themselves  on  the 
faint  glimmer  far  down — ever,  oh,  ever  so  far  away! 
Hark  !  some  one  in  the  alley.  If  it  were  he  ?  Ah  1 
then  she  must  go  away,  ever  so  far  away — 

Meer  Ahmed  Ali  found  his  pillow  comfortable, 
and  only  woke  in  the  dawn  to  see  Mytab  standing 
beside  him. 

'  Feroza  ! '  she  cried.     '  Wliere  is  Feroza  ? ' 

A  dull  remorse  came  to  his  drowsy  brain.  '  It 
was  so  late — I — ' 

'  Holy  Prophet,  she  is  not  here !  Thou  hast 
not  seen  her  1  Then  she  hath  gone  to  the  Missen 
to  be  baptized.  Why  didst  turn  her  brain  with 
books  ?     Fool !     Idiot ! ' 

'  The  Mission  1 '    Meer  Ahmed  Ali  was  aw^ake 

VOL.  I  R 


242  FEROZA 

now,  and  the  peaceful  party,  gathered  in  the  ver- 
andah for  early  tea,  stared  as  the  young  man  burst 
in  on  it  with  imperious  demands  for  his  wife. 
Then  his  surroundings  recalled  his  acquired  cour- 
tesy, and  he  stammered  an  apologetic  explanation. 

'  She  has  gone  away  ? '  cried  Julia,  with  a  queer 
catch  in  her  breath.  '  Oh,  Meer  sahib !  what  a 
mistake  we  have  all  made.  It  was  too  late  to 
write,  and  then  I  got  ill ;  but,  indeed  !  I  was  going 
down  this  very  morning  to  try  and  make  you 
understand.' 

'  Understand  what  ?'  asked  the  Meer,  helplessly 
confused,  adding  hurriedly,  '  but  I  can't  stay  now. 
She  must  be  found.  I  will  not  have  her  run  away. 
I  will  have  her  back — yes !  I  ivill  have  her  back.' 

Half-an-hour  later  Julia  Smith,  driven  to  the 
Moulvie's  house  by  remorseful  anxiety,  found  the 
wicket -gate  ajar.  She  entered  silently  upon  a 
scene  framed  like  a  picture  by  the  dark  doorway 
of  the  men's  court. 

Feroza  had  come  back  to  those  familiar  walls. 
She  lay  beside  the  well,  and  the  water  from  her 


FEEOZA  243 

clinging  garments  crept  in  dark  stains  through  the 
dust.  She  had  wrapped  her  veil  round  her  to 
stifle  useless  cries,  and  so  the  dead  face,  as  in 
life,  was  decently  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  men. 
She  lay  alone  under  the  cloudless  sky,  for  her 
friends,  shrinking  from  the  defilement  of  death, 
stood  apart :  Kareema  sobbing  on  Mytab's  breast, 
with  Ahmed  Ali,  dazed  yet  indignant,  holding  her 
hand ;  the  Moulvie,  repeating  a  prayer ;  the  ser- 
vants still  breathless  from  their  ghastly  toil.  Julia 
Smith  saw  it  all  with  her  bodily  eyes ;  yet  nothing 
seemed  worth  seeing  save  that  veiled  figure  in  the 
dust.  She  knelt  beside  it  and  took  the  slender 
cold  hand  in  hers.  'My  dear,  my  dear!'  she 
whispered  through  her  sobs.  'Surely  you  need 
not  have  gone  so  far,  so  very  far — for  help.' 

But  the  dead  face  was  hidden  even  from  her 
tears. 

END  OF  VOL.  I. 


/ 


Piil 


3  0112  042061546 


